


i think i'm breathing tragedy

by tigerlo



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, With a side of angst, and a hint of smut, but we have to earn it before we get there, like maximum angst, or a lot..., there's a happy ending, this is an absolute angst-fest team, this is looooong too so bring some snacks, with a topping of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 02:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlo/pseuds/tigerlo
Summary: When Nicole is released from the hospital after Jack's attack on her and Wynonna, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.But sometimes the things that linger in the darkness are far worse than those you can see in the light.A companion piece of sorts todark calls the dark.





	i think i'm breathing tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for what feels like months, guys, and I probably have actually. This was kind of my go-to piece while I was writing the bulk of the wild-west fic when I needed a bit of a breather (because what's better than an absolute mountain of angst when you need a break, right?) but, it's kind of very close to my heart because it's been something that's just simmered between Smurf and I, and I feel a bit delicate letting it out into the world so I really hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Anyway, it's special, is what I'm trying to say. I hope you think so too.
> 
> An _enormous_ thank you to @iamthegaysmurf for reading and beta-ing this as always, but an extra special thanks for not throwing things at me virtually as I wrote it. She's the best beta in the world, you guys. If you didn't already know. 
> 
> x

 

-

  


Prologue.

  


-

  


They don’t start right away, the nightmares after Nicole is taken; after Jack. They start slowly. They allow her to slip into a false sense of security, that there isn’t any lingering damage beyond the way her stomach turns at fermented fruit.

 

They don’t start right away, but when they do, they almost break her.

  


-

  


**One**.

 

Resentment. A quiet and patient thing.

  


-

  


The envelope arrives exactly a month after she proposes to Waverly.

 

The police department seal on the top of the small white rectangle makes her frown for a moment, completely confused about what it might contain, before everything comes flooding back, clean and easy and frightening.

 

The application had been a knee-jerk reaction to the confusion of their very early relationship, before they were Nicole _and_ Waverly, and not just Nicole, period. And Waverly.

 

She had come back into the office after another lunch spent watching Champ put his hands all over Waverly while she tried to work, and Nicole sat at the bar eating a salad she knows Waverly had carefully put together for her like some self-torturing fool.

 

Because that’s what it was like watching the two of them together: torture. Not the dramatic, emotional kind of torture, but the torture of a dull ache that makes the marrow of Nicole’s bones itch day after _day_.

 

Waverly fended off Champ’s advances before throwing Nicole a glance, like she was contemplating what a life spent together with Nicole would look like, instead of one with him, and when her eyes found Nicole’s, that vision filled Nicole’s mind, too.

 

But then Waverly would sigh, like clockwork, and turn back to Champ’s advances instead of Nicole’s, handing herself back to him instead of to Nicole.

 

And she knows now that the reason Waverly turned away in the first place wasn’t because she wasn’t interested, it was because she _was_. Because she was busy imagining Nicole’s arms across her shoulders and around her waist, tugging them closer, but she thought she didn’t have a snowflake's chance in hell of Nicole being interested in return.

 

So she’d given herself back to the boy instead, again and again and again. Until Nicole couldn’t take it to watch any longer.

 

And Nicole had sulked all the way back to the station, searching across counties for any jobs above the level of her own, trying to concentrate her attention back on her _career_ and the area that had always been the top of her mind before Waverly Earp had come and run riot over every carefully ordered thing in her life.

 

Because she had thought that she could survive Waverly Earp not returning her feelings, that she could live content in the background of Waverly’s life as long as she was happy, but after seeing them together again, and _again_ , she hadn’t been so sure.

 

She hadn’t been sure if she _was_ strong enough, or if watching them might have killed her instead.

 

So she had found a few vacancies, applied for all three of them that afternoon, and then half a week later, Waverly Earp had shut the door to Nedley’s office, and that other half-existence, and kissed _life_ back into her.

  


-

  


She’s not sure what the definition of a perfect relationship is, but she thinks she might have found it with Waverly Earp.

 

It’s never been this easy with any of her past relationships. There’s always something that makes them falter or trip: one of them likes the light on and the other off, they both like to sleep on the same side of the bed, or they both like the last red piece of candy in a bag. Something small and mundane, but just big enough that they’re not _quite_ a perfect fit.

 

But not with Waverly.

 

With Waverly, everything is perfect. It feels like they were made for one another, that’s how perfect and easy and effortless things are with her. Like design took the hollows of Nicole’s body and built Waverly around them after she was born, and the same for Waverly, too.

 

They’re perfect, and they exist in this state of bliss after the first few hurdles, and the loss of one small soul draws them closer, to the point where they’re almost indistinguishable from one another.

 

Nicole proposes after a year, and she would have after a month, but she wants Waverly to know that this isn’t a snap decision, or that she’s caught in the throes of young love. She wants Waverly to know that this is _serious_.

 

She has to leave the Ghost River Triangle to find the perfect ring, but that doesn’t matter one bit, because when she sees the one she chooses, her eyes fall across the facets of the stones, and the antique filigree winding around the crown of the ring, and she knows instantly that this is the ring Waverly Earp will wear when she becomes Nicole’s _forever_.

 

Nicole proposes and it’s perfect, of course it’s perfect, and of course Waverly throws herself into Nicole’s arms and breathes yes, yes, _yes_ , crying when she peppers kisses to Nicole’s neck and hands and face.  

 

Yes, yes, yes, Waverly will be her _wife_.

 

They’re elated for a month, touching constantly because once is just never enough, and it’s perfect, _more_ than, until that envelope arrives on Nicole’s desk.

  


-

  


Her hands are shaking and her blood is cold when she slips her finger under the edge of the seal, tearing it open with a held breath.

 

_Miss Haught,_

 

_We are pleased to offer you the position of…_

 

It’s effectively a promotion. A big one. A _really_ big one. But it’s not in their province; it’s a _long_ way away.

 

She reads the rest of the letter with tears forming in her eyes, because this is tantamount to her perfect job. Big city, but not _too_ big; better benefits; and an almost guaranteed promotion after she proves herself to the Chief…

 

It’s perfect, only it’s not. Because she can’t take it. Because there’s no way in the world that she can take it, or even think about it.

 

And she knows she can’t even raise it with Waverly, because Waverly will say yes, and she cannot allow that to happen.

 

She knows she can’t ask Waverly to leave her life here, to leave her sister. Well, she knows she _could_ ask, but she doesn’t want to _have_ to, because Waverly might agree initially, but Nicole knows she’ll regret it.

 

That she’ll miss her sister.

 

That she’ll miss this life.

 

That maybe that might make Waverly resent her.

 

And she cannot have that. It’s as simple as that.

 

She sends the reply without even thinking about it, _Dear sir/madam, I would like to sincerely thank you for the opportunity, however I have to respectfully decline._

 

And it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s how it has to be. But she can’t shake the feeling that she’s doing something deeply, solidly _wrong_.

  


-

  


Waverly notices the second she comes through the front door, even though she’s just spent the last five minutes in the car trying to school her face into something neutral.

 

Of course she does.

 

Because Waverly Earp loves her more than she loves herself.

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Waverly asks, dropping her book from her lap to the couch beside her to move for Nicole instantly. “Did something happen at work?”

 

“No,” Nicole says, probably too quickly, calming her over-enthusiastic voice a little. “Everything’s fine, Wave, I’m sorry. We just had a couple of weird calls is all.”

 

It’s the first time since the _other_ envelope had almost destroyed her life and her future and her heart that Nicole’s told anything that wasn’t a full truth to Waverly, and she reacts _instantly_ , her stomach turning and her face paling, which, of _course_ Waverly notices, too.

 

“Come on, baby,” Waverly says gently, taking Nicole by the hand and leading her over to the seat she had just vacated. “Sit down, alright? I’ll make you something in a jiff.”

 

She goes to shake her head to protest, but Waverly isn’t having any of it, sinking easily to her knees, beginning to unlace Nicole’s boots.

 

“Wave,” she says again, a little louder, but Waverly ignores her, because this is what she does; she takes care of Nicole, she’s there with an even fuller heart when Nicole has had a shitty day, or something terrible happens on shift.

 

Waverly is _there_.

 

And normally it makes her sigh with a relief that allows the tension in her ribs ease, but today it just makes Nicole feel sick.

 

She almost tells Waverly then and there, but after she finishes unlacing Nicole’s boots, she moves into the kitchen, chatting happily to fill the silence like she knows Nicole loves after a bad day; about Wynonna and something they’d done together, and _it’s just so nice to have her here again, for good this time,_ and Nicole knows that she can’t say a goddamn thing.

 

Waverly makes her a warm soup that takes the edge off the aching in her throat before leading Nicole to bed.

 

Waverly’s fingers find the closure of her uniform, dropping each item to the floor with a finality that makes everything seem better and worse at the same time, as though each piece of clothing is another nail in the coffin of that journey, now closed and shut down and dead and buried for good.

 

Waverly makes love to her slowly, softly, and with kiss upon kiss upon kiss, she forgets. For now, for this moment, she forgets. Because Waverly’s kisses are a cure, and her touches are the elixir of life, and when she ushers Nicole over the edge with a _let go, baby, you’re free_ , Nicole cries.

 

She cries and cries and cries, and she can’t stop the tears, but Waverly has her. She catches her and holds her, until her voice runs dry, for this job and her career and holding something back from Waverly, and whatever it’s going to sow in the field that is their future.

 

And when she stops, when she stills, Waverly presses her back into the bed, sliding down Nicole’s body, pressing kisses that heal... and burn, too.

 

Nicole loses her worry when Waverly’s hands wrap around her inner thighs and she takes Nicole whole and warm against her tongue, and it feels like a betrayal, but for hours and hours, she doesn’t think about keeping a thing from Waverly.

 

She _forgets_ instead.

 

Just as Waverly is hoping she will do.

 

She comes with a choked gasp, but Waverly is there to help her through it, Waverly is always there to help her through it.

 

She just hopes she’ll be there to help Nicole through this, too.

  


-

  


Nicole doesn’t sleep a wink in the end.

 

She just lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and watches her future play out in different versions across the wood while Waverly sleeps, tucked soundly and warmly into her side.

 

In one, she’s Sheriff, and in another, she’s something bigger in the city, better, where she can help more people, but in every one of them Waverly _wilts_ away from her family and her home. She becomes a smaller part of her once-bright whole, and Nicole knows she cannot allow that to happen in reality.

 

And it’s okay, it’s _really_ okay, because she’ll stay here instead, and she’ll be the Sheriff when Nedley retires, and she’ll help people in a small town instead of a big one, and it’ll be okay, because Waverly will be happy.

 

And she’ll be happy, too, but most of all _Waverly_ will.

 

She has a family here now - in Wynonna and Doc and Jeremy and Dolls, and Nedley, too - something more than she’s had in a _very_ long time, and that’s _something_ ; a consolation beside Waverly’s happiness, that she’s not alone anymore.

 

And it’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

 

She _thinks_.

 

-

  


The ring was supposed to be their freedom, but it just feels like a chain now.

 

She tells Waverly about the letter a few days later. She’s ecstatic, of course she is, because she knows how hard Nicole works, she knows how much Nicole loves her job, she knows how deeply Nicole wants to help people, and this will allow her to do this on a much bigger stage.

 

As well as Waverly tries to hide it, and as amazingly excited as she is, throwing herself into Nicole’s arms, pressing congratulatory kisses to Nicole’s cheeks, she doesn’t miss the way Waverly’s face falls - just for a moment, a _second_ \- when she realises what the promotion actually means.

 

She tells Waverly quickly that she’s not going to take it, though; that she’s already turned it down, that it was an easy choice to make because she doesn’t want to move. They have a family here now, and Nicole wouldn’t give that up for anything.

 

She tells Waverly that she applied for the job a long time ago, before they were ever an anything, when she knew she couldn’t take watching Waverly with Champ forever when her own feelings were so strong. That she’s tough, she’s resilient, that she could take almost anything, but she’s not - or she wasn’t - strong enough to take that.

 

Waverly sits her down on the couch, her face serious and somber, and she tells Nicole that she knows their family is here, she knows that they’ve only just found peace after so long spent fighting, but if Nicole wants this, if Nicole really wants this, then she would leave tomorrow.

 

“I love my sister,” Waverly says, taking Nicole’s hand in her own. “I love Doc and Dolls, too, and it’s not a competition, but I love you more, Nicole. You’re my home now. You’re going to be my forever, my wife, and if you want to go, then we’ll go. Easy as that.”

 

“Baby, we can’t…” Nicole begins, shaking her head, looking into Waverly’s eyes. “We can’t leave them with the curse. We can’t…”

 

“You heard what Dolls said,” Waverly says earnestly, and she’s trying, she’s trying so hard to show Nicole that she’s okay with this, that she could make it work. “The Revs have people on the outside. We could help them from there. I can keep doing research, I could go to school, Nicole, an actual college with classes in buildings on a campus. We could make it work, I promise you.”

 

Nicole can’t help but dream of how wonderful it would feel to know the kinds of people she was fighting again. How good it would be to have normal bad guys, people who were monsters in metaphor only, and nothing else. She knows there should be a rush in being part of this inner circle, of this incredibly small group of people who know what really goes bump in the night now that she’s in it, and not on the outside.

 

She knows people would kill to be party to that kind of information, she knows Waverly thrives on it, but honestly, despite her wanting to know so badly in the beginning, it’s never been anything but a burden for Nicole since Doc had spilled the beans on the night of the gala. Because she’s smart, she _knows_ she is, but she always feels woefully out of her depth when the new big bad rolls into town, because this world of demons and devils and curses, it’s not hers, no matter how much she loves someone tied up in the middle of it.

 

Nicole knows that she means everything that she’s saying, too. She knows that Waverly’s words are earnest and not just full of the things Waverly thinks she wants to hear, and it could almost fool Nicole, if she didn’t know Waverly as well as she does. Waverly means every word, she’d go with Nicole in a heartbeat if she asked, but she doesn’t quite hide the shadows in her eyes when she clutches at Nicole’s hand.

 

They’re almost completely obscured, and if Nicole didn’t know her as well as she does, she’d miss them entirely, but they’re there. The lingering worry for what she would leave behind, the fact that despite everything on offer in the big wide world, and the fact that Nicole knows she’s wanted to leave Purgatory her whole adult life, she doesn’t want to go anymore.

 

She doesn’t want to leave their family, her sister, the action here, _fight_ , Wynonna’s burden. She wants Nicole’s happiness, probably more than she wants her own, but she doesn’t want to leave this place. Not really. Not anymore.

 

She hides it, almost completely, but she doesn’t hide it enough.

 

“It’s… I love you for offering, Wave, but I’ve already said no,” Nicole says carefully, because she doesn’t want to dismiss the magnitude of what Waverly is offering. Of what she’s offering to give up. “We can’t leave. I don’t wanna leave.”

 

“Nicole-“ Waverly tries to argue, but Nicole cuts across her gently.

 

“We can’t leave, baby,” Nicole replies, a small part of her heart falling with every word. “We can’t. I know Wynonna’s a big girl, and she’s the one with the superpowers and all, but we can’t leave her to face this without us. Not for a job. I promise it’s okay. I promise.”

 

“You’re sure?” Waverly asks, and Nicole watches the weight that had affixed itself to Waverly’s shoulders a moment ago lift slightly at the idea of it. “I couldn’t handle you being disappointed, or upset about…”

 

“I’m not,” Nicole replies quickly, and the lie is so smooth she almost believes herself. “You’re my home too, baby, but this is our home. Purgatory is our home.”

 

Waverly looks at her for a moment, her eyes filling with tears before she wraps her arms around Nicole’s neck, pulling herself as close to Nicole as she possibly can, tucking herself under Nicole’s chin.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs into the warmth of Nicole’s body, squeezing tight. “I’m so sorry we-“

 

“It’s okay, Wave,” Nicole says in return, closing her hand around the back of Waverly’s neck, holding her close as her throat thickens. “It’s okay. We’re going to have the most amazing life here instead.”

 

“We are,” Waverly sniffs, pulling away from Nicole, wiping quickly at the tear on her cheek. “It’s going to be so good, baby. I promise.”

 

_She’s relieved_ , Nicole thinks like a punch to the gut, watching Waverly’s face completely light up. _She’s happy. She’s so happy because we’re staying._

 

She doesn’t blame Waverly, not at all, not for a second, because her life is here, and the reasons that taunted her growing up, all the reasons why she should get the hell out of Purgatory and never look back, they’re just not _there_ anymore. She has more of a family now than she ever had before, her sister is home, to stay this time.

 

The kicker though, the thing that matters the most, is that Waverly has a purpose now. The curse has given her that in a turn of ridiculous irony, and Nicole knows she’d be no better than the monsters they hunt if she asked Waverly to give that up.

 

It makes her stomach turn a little when she sees what the suggestion of staying does to Waverly’s demeanor, at how much she wants this, but it makes the decision easier at least.

 

They’ll stay. _She’ll_ stay. They’ll be happy. She’ll be happy.

 

She’ll be _happy_.

 

Won’t she?

 

Waverly starts talking, but Nicole’s consciousness wavers, which it never does, not when Waverly is speaking to her. She feels vaguely sick as the realisation sinks in, deeper and deeper. They’re staying, they can’t leave, she can’t leave.

 

Not unless she leaves Waverly behind.

  


-

  


The thing is, Nicole’s job means everything to her.

 

Before Waverly, it had been the point around which everything else revolved. She’d had a clear career progression in her head since she’d first decided she wanted to be a cop, and nothing, _nothing,_ was ever going to stop that. Not misogyny or gender bias or anything. She was going to earn her stripes until she could make some real change, and then she’d work even harder to do more.

 

That was the plan.

 

Nicole had factored in partners - never an expectation of them, but a hope maybe - but she’d been firm with herself from the beginning that her future needed to be set independent of them. Being a good cop came before anything else. Even that.

 

Waverly blows that to pieces, into tiny deadly shards that sit precariously close to her heart, threatening to move and compromise everything in one swift cut. Waverly exists outside of all of Nicole’s preset parameters and boundaries. She’s the exception. She’s the only exception to _everything_.

 

Months pass following Nicole’s decision not to take the job, and then years.

 

To begin with, it’s fine, it’s wonderful even, magnificent, because they marry, Waverly becomes her wife, she wakes Nicole up every morning to show her the way the small gold band sits on her finger with her engagement ring. She tells Nicole how perfect it is before she kisses her senseless, Waverly’s happiness a sweet taste in her mouth, tempting her to stay in bed just a little bit longer.

 

_Perfect_ , Waverly whispers, as Nicole rolls her onto her back, kissing up and down the column of her throat, the line of the gold band cool against the back of Nicole’s neck. _Perfect, perfect, perfect._

 

And for a while, for _years_ even, it truly is.

 

The first few years of their marriage are full of laughter and love and victory. Wynonna, with their help, whittles down the Revenants to a mere handful, to the point where they begin to make plans to have Alice brought back to them as soon as she disposes of the final few.

 

Waverly thrives in their new life together. She gets a job lecturing at the local high school in addition to their other extracurricular research and duties after adding a teaching degree to her suite of qualifications. She’s a kind and patient mentor, the students adore her, as do their parents, and before she knows it, the track to vice-principal, and then principal, become eventualities in her future, not simply possibilities.

 

Waverly thrives. She grows and she develops and she steps into a completely new role in the community.

 

Waverly thrives. And Nicole does not.

 

She’s a good cop, She’s the _best_ cop, actually. With the cleanest record, and the most community outreach. But she stagnates because she’ll never be more than a deputy no matter how many people she helps here. The community loves her as much as they love Waverly, and they become the apple of the town as a pair. People she knows the locals will tell stories of for years - their role model progressive citizens - but there’s only so much she can do with her current job title.

 

She’s a great cop, but she knows she’ll never be more than that. Not here. Not now.

 

Nedley was grooming her for leadership, she knows he was, she was told as much on more than one occasion, but he announces his intent to retire and someone higher up than either of them have any power to challenge pulls rank and refuses to appoint a woman to the role, in spite of the fact that Nicole is far and away the best candidate for the job. Nedley is furious and Nicole is devastated, but there’s nothing either of them can do.

 

One of Nicole’s peers is offered the role instead, strong and reasonably silent, not unlike Nedley himself, and he’s a good cop, too, he’s a good guy, but he’s not as good as Nicole.

 

He settles into the job with Nicole’s help, because she’s not going to hold a grudge against him, none of this is his fault, she can see that clearly, written across his face as guilt when she helps him plan his first few weeks when Nedley finally bows out.

 

It’s awful, it’s horrid, but Nicole holds out hope that he’ll do a terrible job as Sheriff. He’ll slip up or trip over, and he’ll lose the public confidence, and he’ll have no option but to step back down into a deputy position and pave the way for her to have a second run at the job. She works furiously in the meantime, adding as many accolades as she possibly can to her own work history, but the worst happens.

 

He’s good at the job.

 

He’s really, _really_ good. He steps up in a way that no one was actually expecting he’d be able to do as Nedley’s successor, to the point where the town adores him, too, almost as much as they did Nedley. As much as they do her. He makes changes Nicole had been planning to when she finally moved into that role, streamlines their processes with newer equipment, helps simplify the paperwork, and the whole department loves him for it.

 

Waverly is a constant companion while the change occurs. She’s patient with Nicole, kind, sympathetic. She does everything she can to make the transition as painless as possible for Nicole, as she watches the future she wanted so badly fade into obscurity, but even with all her love and all her support, it’s still the most painful blow Nicole has ever had to stand and take.

 

“We never know what’s gonna happen, baby,” Waverly says one night when Nicole comes home after another great departmental meeting, sliding her arms around Nicole’s waist, rubbing her lower back soothingly. “He might leave. He might eye a bigger city position. He might wake up one morning and hate his job and ask you to take over effective immediately?”

 

“Thanks, Wave,” Nicole replies, leaning down, pressing a kiss to Waverly’s forehead.

 

Waverly’s hands slide up her back, wrapping around her neck, pulling her down for a proper kiss, a distraction, but Nicole shortens the kiss instead of allowing Waverly to deepen it, slipping out of Waverly’s arms.

 

“I’m sorry,” Nicole offers with a grimace, dropping her hat on its place on the table before she heads for the stairs, intent on having a shower as hot as she can stand in an attempt to strip the melancholy. “I’m sorry, Wave, I’m just not in the mood.”

 

_I should be happy_ , Nicole thinks, stripping off her clothes and standing under the scorching water. She has everything, after all. A family that loves her and a wife that adores her even more. She has a good job. It’s not the best - it’s not as much as she knows she’s capable of, but it’s good.

 

And yet, she’s not.

 

All of that, and she’s not.

 

She’s not happy.

 

She’s _not_ happy.

 

She’s _so_ far from it.

  


-

  


It’s not melancholy.

 

It takes her a long time to realise what it truly is, the feeling that begins that night. It takes months even. It’s not melancholy at all. It’s resentment.

 

It’s _so_ much worse.

  


-

  


She thinks about leaving a lot. Because Waverly doesn’t deserve this. Waverly deserves someone who loves her as much as Nicole used to, before the seed settled into the soil at their feet and grew poisonous vines, leeching silent anger into her bones.

 

Waverly is appointed to the principal job two years after Nicole misses out on her promotion, almost to the day. It’s a different kind of cruelty altogether, Nicole thinks as Wynonna pops open a bottle of champagne. Watching her wife succeed in every imaginable way as she plateaus.

 

Alice twists her way between her father’s legs before he picks her up with a squeal, throwing her over his shoulder and spinning around, pretending he’s lost sight of her, much to the little girl’s delight. She’s been home for a week, after Wynonna shot the last Revenant dead and buried Peacemaker six feet underground beneath the homestead.

 

The curse is broken and Alice is home now, but still they can’t leave. They can’t move to pursue one of the three out of Province job offers Nicole has received in the last week following her latest commendation, because Waverly is rooted to the ground here now more than ever.

 

It’s the worst nightmare that she never even thought to be afraid of before it happens, because in what _world_ would she ever have guessed she might have come to resent Waverly Earp, instead of loving her with all of her heart. And Nicole still loves her, of course she does, but every day Nicole wakes with gritted teeth because Waverly is about to leave for her wonderful new job, and Nicole knows she will never be more than she is now.

 

They raise a toast to Alice, and to Waverly Earp, _principal,_ and as hard and as desperately as Nicole tries, she can’t make the smile meet her eyes.

  


-

  


She’s so careful not to be neglectful in her duties as a partner. She’s as attentive and as loving as she possibly can be, and she fools Waverly for a while, but it catches up with her in the end.

 

“I want you to tell me what’s going on,” Waverly says to her one night after dinner, pushing her plate to the side. It’s supposed to be their anniversary today, but Nicole caught the wrong side of an elbow trying to apprehend someone shoplifting from the local store, so they’re at home, and she’s nursing a black eye instead.

 

“I’m sorry?” Nicole asks, confused, lifting the bag of frozen peas away from her eye.  “What do you mean?”

 

It takes her a moment to realise what it could be that Waverly’s referring to, that’s how complete she thinks her deception is, but when she does, it feels like the bag has slipped down her back, chilling her blood.

 

“Come on, Nicole,” Waverly says, and her voice is hard, practised, like she’s been working herself up to this conversation for weeks now. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You’ve never done it before, please don’t start now. Tell me what’s going on.”

 

The candlelight catches the small pendant around Waverly’s neck that Nicole had chosen a month ago for the occasion. It’s perfect, quintessentially Waverly, and it’s only small, but it looks like it suddenly weighs a ton, dragging the light in Waverly’s eyes until it can pool at the floor beneath their feet.

 

“Baby,” Nicole replies slowly, pushing her plate to the side, too, so she can look at Waverly properly. “I’m not sure what you’re…”

 

She doesn’t want to rush and come clean in the event that she’s picked up the wrong end of the stick, that she’s just missed something else or dropped a ball or something that isn’t the depth of resentment she harbours somewhere low in her chest.

 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me baby in three days, did you know that?” Waverly says, factually, but with a gut-wrenchingly sad smile, and it hits Nicole like a physical blow.

 

_It couldn’t_ … Nicole thinks, her heart sinking, her blood turns to ice. _She’s been so…_

 

“I’ve thought about this a lot, you know?” Waverly says, linking her fingers together and twisting her hands fiercely in a way that looks like it hurts. In a way Nicole wants to reach across the table and stop, only she knows better than to, in this moment.

 

“Thought about what?” Nicole asks, her voice heavy with fear, with dread.

 

“About what’s wrong,” Waverly says simply, her eyes piercing when she finally looks to Nicole. “I knew it wasn’t… I knew it wasn’t someone _else_ , you know, not like that. I thought maybe it was the curse. That you still felt left out, maybe.”

 

“That’s why you’ve been so transparent with it all,” Nicole says slowly, realisation heightening her guilt. “That’s why Wynonna’s made sure to include me in everything.”

 

“It’s not that though, is it?” Waverly asks, biting her lip, and Nicole can see how desperately she wants to cry, how desperately she’s holding it back. “That’s not what the problem is?”

 

She needs say something. Nicole knows that the moment she realises how deeply she’s hurt Waverly by trying to keep it all hidden in her head. She needs to tell Waverly. The full story, too, not bits and pieces. Waverly deserves that. She needs to come clean completely, and hope like hell there’s something to hold on to once she’s finished. That Waverly’s trust or heart won’t be shredded beyond repair.

 

She takes a deep breath, hoping desperately that it might settle her, but her nerves are in tatters now; it’s far too late for that. There’s a fear she can see in Waverly’s eyes, too, different to her own, and it makes her feel sick, because that’s on her. That’s _all_ on her.

 

“It’s just…I _love_ how successful you are, Wave, I need you to know that,” Nicole says slowly, hoping that Waverly will hear the regret in her voice, hoping that might be enough to help fix this. “I love it, it’s incredible, and I’m so proud of you, but I…”

 

“It’s about your job,” Waverly finishes for her, pushing her chair back and standing up sharply, the chair legs groaning against the wooden floor, presumably so she can put some distance between them.

 

Waverly raises her hands in a gesture of intense exasperation before dropping them so that her palms slap against her legs.

 

It’s a cynical sound, something so unfamiliar in the Waverly she knows. _Her_ Waverly. It makes Nicole wince.

 

“It’s about your job,” Waverly laughs harshly, like it’s an epiphany, shaking her head. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she’s not in the mood, wiping it away quickly before she continues. “God, of course it’s about your job. You know, I was stupid enough to think you were as happy as you said you were, because we don’t lie to each other anymore, do we, Nicole? That you were content, because you said you were, but…”

 

“I tried, okay?” Nicole interrupts gently, and she hates to, but she needs to stop the train of thought she knows Waverly is about to move on to. Her throat is getting thick now, thicker when she looks into Waverly’s eyes again. She’s beginning to panic. It’s a massive mistake, Nicole knows it is now, but it’s too late. It’s far too late. “God, Wave, I tried so hard to be happy for him, and for you, but I’ve never been able to…”

 

“If you say a word about those promotions,” Waverly says, shaking her head, turning her back on Nicole for a moment. “If you say what I think you’re gonna say, Nicole, I’m going to lose my mind, because we _talked_ about this.”

 

This is escalating far too quickly, Nicole knows it is. She can feel the bile rising in her throat, because it’s getting past the point she knows she’ll be able to bring it back from, this argument, that _they’ll_ be able to come back from.

 

Nicole doesn’t speak just yet, because she knows Waverly isn’t finished. She knows there’s more she needs to stay, and she’s terrified that if she interrupts one more time, Waverly won’t start talking again.

 

“I thought we’d been through this,” Waverly sighs, and she sounds exhausted. And angry. “I thought we’d talked about keeping things from me when you think it’s best? Do you remember the last time that happened?”

 

Even now, years later, the memory of Waverly storming away from the bar with that envelope in her hand haunts Nicole. Even years later, some nights it’s _all_ she can think about.

 

“I do, baby,” Nicole tries to reason, but Waverly throws her a look that feels like a slap at the endearment. “I do, Wave, but I just…”

 

“But you just thought you knew better?” Waverly asks, pacing the room now, balling her hands into fists and wiping away the odd stray tear. “Just like last time, you thought you knew what was best. I told you we could go, Nicole. I told you every time you got an offer that we could go, and I meant it. You know I meant it. Why didn’t you just say something?”

 

“Because nothing could change,” Nicole throws back, her arms reaching across the table involuntarily, like her body hopes that’ll draw Waverly back into her seat. It’s desperate, she knows it is, but so is she. “I didn’t want to say anything because nothing could change, Waverly. Nothing could change, and you know that. We couldn’t leave any more than I could grow wings and fly us out of here, no matter how willing you were.”

 

“We could _always_ make something change, Nicole,” Waverly says, a flash of white-hot anger in her eyes. “Always. What do you think I would prefer? Being away from Wynonna, or being here arguing about this, again, feeling everything fall apart beneath our feet over something we could have changed?”

 

“I’m sorry, Waverly,” Nicole says, and she’s not sure when she started crying, but she is now. “I’m so sorry. I am. I know I should have said something long, long ago. If you give me a chance, I’ll-“

 

“You’ll what?” Waverly interjects, not bothering to catch her own tears now either. “Just stop resenting me? Don’t say that’s not what it is, because what else can it be? What else could it possibly be?”

 

“Wave, I don’t…” Nicole sobs, and it all dissolves, the resentment, the unresolved anger and frustration, it all just disappears in the face of Waverly’s pain.

 

She’s going to lose Waverly, Nicole knows that in that moment, her stomach rolling beneath the weight of the knowledge. It’s too far, the fact that she hid it all. Waverly’s going to leave. How did she _ever_ think a job was worth that?

 

“You resent me?” Waverly says, her voice disbelieving, and Nicole doesn’t think she’s ever seen her in so much pain. “God, Nicole, you resent me?”

 

“Wave, please,” Nicole pleads desperately, pushing back from the table, crossing the room and meeting Waverly in two quick strides. “Please, I can…”

 

“We could have fixed this,” Waverly says, her voice breaking over the last syllable. “We could have fixed this, if you’d just said. Before… _before_ …”

 

“What do you mean before?” Nicole asks, her heart feeling as though it drops through the pit of her stomach. “Wave, we can fix it now. We can fix it now, I promise I won’t ever-“

 

“You won’t ever what?” Waverly questions, her eyebrow raised, hurt and humiliation written all over her face. “Keep anything from me? How can I trust that? How on earth can I trust that now? How can I trust anything now? God, you hid this for years, Nicole.”

 

“Baby, please,” Nicole says, reaching for Waverly’s hand, ready to sink to her knees, because she’s not above begging. Not for this. “Please, just let me-“

 

It makes a sound, the moment when their relationship breaks. A slow, deep crack, like bone snapping. Waverly shrugs off the hand at her elbow, and the hand covering her own, and the pain hits Nicole so heavily that she almost buckles beneath it.

 

It’s blinding, Waverly’s dismissal of her touch, Nicole feels the noise drain from the room, like it’s suddenly been submerged underwater.

 

“I need to go,” Waverly says, turning her back on Nicole, swiping her keys from the bowl by the front door. Nicole wonders if she’ll ever see that same movement ever again. “I need some air or some space or something.”

 

“No, Wave,” Nicole sobs, her chest trembling beneath the force of it. “Please, please don’t go.”

 

Waverly turns to her one final time. Her eyes are dry now, even if her cheeks are still wet, and they’re hard. This isn’t _her_ Waverly looking at her anymore.

 

_It’s over_ , Nicole thinks, as her heart breaks, and her knees go from under her. She doesn’t feel the pain of them hitting the wood, hard. No, the pain in her chest is _far_ too loud.

 

“My success hasn’t done this,” Waverly says to her, pulling the door open, and her voice is cold. “Neither has your lack of promotion”

 

She wants to pull her heart out of her chest. She can’t stand it, the sensation that Waverly’s eyes on her - crumpled on the floor - induces, like alcohol on an open wound.

 

“Your _goddamn_ sense of honour has, Nicole,” Waverly says easily, as if it costs her nothing. As if she knew this would be their downfall all along.

 

The door squeaks on its hinges, and Nicole can already feel the echo of the impact it’ll make when it slams, in her chest. “Your honour killed us, Nicole. And now you’ll have to live with that.”

  


-

  


_Interlude._

  


-

  


Fear becomes a bedfellow. It sleeps in the warmth between her and Waverly’s bodies. It nurtures itself there.

 

She doesn’t want to verbalise the fear, because they all have far bigger problems. Willa is dead and Dolls is gone and Wynonna is mourning. Waverly has enough to deal with.

 

She doesn’t need this, too.

 

So Nicole holds her silence, braces herself…

 

…and they get worse.

  


-

  


**Two.**

 

Oh, death.

  


-

  


She’s just… gone.

 

One minute she’s there. Breathing. And the next she’s not.

 

She’s just _gone_.

 

And the hole she leaves is _jarring_.

  


-

  


“Nicole.”

 

It’s Wynonna’s use of her first name that’s so jarring, more so than the fact that she’s lying on Waverly’s bed.

 

Waverly’s bed that she’s never, _ever_ going to sleep in again.

 

“Nicole,” Wynonna says again, softer, and Nicole can hear how hoarse it is from crying. “We have to go…they’re about to start…”

 

The ceiling in Waverly’s room is white now, it’s white, and they painted it together not six months ago. She’d been too short to reach the upper corners, even with the ladder, so Nicole had picked her up around the middle, lifting her the last two inches.

 

The ceiling in Waverly’s room is white, and so are Nicole’s hands.

 

Now.

 

But before… when she failed…when Nicole _failed_ …

 

…they’d been red, red, _red_.

 

“I know,” Nicole says finally, and her voice breaks around the second word. “I just don’t know if I _can_.”

 

“Me, neither,” Wynonna says, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, her eyes as pained as Nicole’s whole body feels. “But maybe we can do it together.”

  


-

  


She’s not sure she would have been able to do it without Wynonna; get ready for the funeral, getting out of bed - _anything_ \- because the pain, the guilt, it’s crippling.

 

Wynonna’s been a lifeline, but it almost hurts as much as helps. Because she’s a constant presence, but she’s a constant reminder of Waverly as well.

 

It’s a torture she needs to bear, she’s aware of that, even through the pain. Because she needs Wynonna as much as Wynonna needs her.

 

She’s wearing a dress, for the service. She didn’t even _own_ a black dress, but she thought Waverly would have liked it, that it might have made her smile. That it might be _making_ her smile. And it didn’t feel right to wear her uniform here, not after it was what she was wearing when…

  


-

  


Nobody ever taught her about grief. Not her parents, not her mentors.

 

Not properly, anyway.

 

They told her how to bundle it up and sink it at sea, how to ignore it, but never, not once, how to _deal_.

 

There’s something that comes to her, in the dead of night after Waverly’s funeral, a thought that settles in Nicole’s mind, that breaks her heart all over again.

 

That she’ll _never_ have any _new_ memories of Waverly.

 

That everything she has seen of Waverly will be all that she will _ever_ see.

 

And it’s _that_ which starts her tears and keep them rolling and rolling and rolling, following gasp after gasp, because she’ll never see Waverly again, she won’t, she just _won’t,_ and the thought is suffocating, it’s terrifying, it’s traumatising, and she can’t breathe.

 

God, she can’t _breathe_.

  


-

  


It doesn’t feel right, to lay Waverly to rest in a place Nicole’s not even sure is her own.

 

She should be somewhere grander.

 

But then, Nicole supposes, this is her home. This is where she belongs.

 

“She should be buried next to her family,” Doc suggests, kindly and well-meaning, and Dolls nods his agreement somewhere next to Doc, but Wynonna shakes her head immediately.

 

“She hated this place, Doc,” Wynonna says coldly, but not emotionlessly. “She wouldn’t want to be in the ground here. Stuck here forever.”

 

“She wouldn’t want to be in the ground here,” Nicole agrees quietly from the corner of the room she has taken refuge in these past few days, to no one and everyone all at once. “She would want to be free. She would want to find her place in the sky.”

 

“Nicole’s right,” Wynonna says, looking over to her, surprised, but not surprised all, at the same time. Because she knows by now that Nicole knew her sister in a way that no one else has ever or will ever know her. “She’d want to see the world. She’d want to be the stars.”

 

Doc smiles before glancing to Dolls and bowing to both Nicole and Wynonna, his eyes wet with tears, again. “Then darlin’, the stars it _is_.”

  


-

  


Doc hands her a glass of whiskey after, when they - Doc, Dolls, and her - are sitting on the porch of the homestead with the stars high and peaceful. Like Waverly was. Where Waverly is.

 

“Drink, Miss Haught,” Doc’s soft lilt comes through the darkness as he hands her the glass, his other hand warm on her shoulder.

 

“I don’t want to,” Nicole says emotionlessly, that’s what it sounds like, even though it’s not, even though she’s screaming inside.

 

“Haught,” Dolls says behind her, his voice softer than Nicole thinks she’s ever heard it. “You need to drink.”

 

“I don’t want to do anything,” Nicole says, looking over her shoulder to him quickly, making sure not to linger in his gaze, looking anywhere but into his face, where she knows she’ll see her own pain echoed.

 

“I know,” Doc says now, softer still, crouching down in front of her. “Nicole, I know. That is why you _must_.”

 

“No,” Nicole replies stubbornly as her hands clench into fists at her sides.

 

“She wouldn’t want this,” Doc tries again, reaching to cover Nicole’s knee with his hand.

 

“You don’t know what she would have wanted,” Nicole snaps before she brings her hand to her mouth, and no matter how hard she bites her lip, it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. “I’m sorry, Doc. I’m so sorry…”

 

She breaks. With his soft hand on her knee, and Waverly’s voice on the wind sweeping across the fields around them, she breaks.

 

It’s all too much, the quiet, the kindness, the black hole widening gap where Waverly should be, but she’s not, she’s not, she’s _not_ , and she won’t ever be again. It’s _suffocating,_ and Nicole feels like she can’t breathe.

 

Her lungs panic, and they start to draw rough, deep gasps in an attempt to find oxygen as Doc’s hand tries to calm her, but it’s not there, because _she’s_ not there, and Nicole doesn’t know what to do.

 

She hears three heavy footfalls before a pair boots stop on either side of her as Wynonna drops behind her and she pulls Nicole close, _tight_ against her chest.

 

“I’ve got you,” Wynonna says, her voice rough, but gentle, as she wraps an arm around Nicole’s waist under her breasts, halting the fluttering of her heart, and the other draws her head back against Wynonna’s cheek. “Shhhhh, it’s okay, Haught, I’ve got you.”

 

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Nicole sobs as Wynonna rocks her gently, back and forth, and Doc watches on helplessly. “We’re here and she’s not, and it’s _not fair_.”

 

“I know it’s not,” Wynonna says as her arms tighten around Nicole, tethering her to something solid, stopping Nicole’s grief from sweeping her away.

 

“We don’t deserve it,” Nicole cries as her voice breaks. “We don’t deserve to be here, in a world where she’s not…where we couldn’t save her…”

 

“I know,” Wynonna says again, and Nicole can feel Wynonna’s tears joining her own now as they roll down her cheeks.

 

“She’s not coming back, Wynonna,” Nicole says, and her words feel like nails in every inch of her skin. “I don’t know how to breathe anymore, and she’s _not coming back_.”

  


-

  


“Drink,” Wynonna says to her later, when Nicole’s eyes follow the brush strokes in the paint of the ceiling again. “Drink, Haught. I’m not giving you a choice this time.”

 

“Wynonna,” Nicole sighs as she sits up in bed.

 

“I’ll make you drink it whether you like it or not,” Wynonna says as her eyes narrow, and Nicole sighs heavier, because she knows Wynonna won’t give this up.

 

Not when she knows Nicole hasn’t slept in days.

 

“What’s in it,” Nicole asks defeated.

 

“Something to help you sleep,” Wynonna says sternly before she softens a little at the pain etched deep in the lines of her face. “You need to _sleep_ , Nicole.”

 

“I’m fine,” Nicole answers, attempting one last time to throw Wynonna off so she can resume her grief-suffering in silence. “And what’s this, you first-naming me now when you think I need to be told off?”

 

She’s not fine. They both know she’s not.

 

But there’s nothing this side of death that will make things better.

 

“You’re not,” Wynonna replies in a monotone voice. “And yes, I am. Now, are you going to drink this, or not?”

 

Nicole takes the cup begrudgingly out of Wynonna’s hand, tipping her head back and downing the glass in one go. She closes her eyes as she feels the bourbon slide thick and rich down her throat with a burn.

 

_Doc’s got the good stuff out_ , Nicole thinks absently to herself as she savours the sting in her throat, the same way she’s savoured every bit of physical pain since…

 

She can taste something else on her tongue, too, something vaguely herbal that’s already making the edges of her vision swell and blur.

 

“What’s in this?” Nicole asks again groggily as she blinks, trying to clear her vision.

 

“I told you, Haught,” Wynonna says gently as she eases back the blankets that Nicole hasn’t dared to disturb and helps her move beneath them. “Something to help you sleep.”

 

It’s overwhelming at first, the smell of Waverly that rolls over her whole body when the blankets are disturbed; not just Waverly, but _them_ , their scent, together.

 

She wants to bottle it or scream at Wynonna for wasting what little remains, but she can’t, because her arms feel heavy now, too.

 

“I can’t believe I let you drug me,” Nicole growls as she allows Wynonna to pull the blankets up around her shoulders, and she’s struck by how soft the motion is, and that this could only be something she used to do with Waverly.

 

Something she dreamed of doing with Alice Michelle.

 

The darkness is closing in around her, and for the first time, her fear takes over her grief, because she doesn’t want to be alone. She doesn’t think she can be alone.

 

“Wynonna, I…”

 

And she’s not even sure what she’s going to say. _I wanted to say thank you for treating me like family. I wanted to say thank you for letting me stay here. I wanted to say, please don’t leave me because once you do and the lights go out, it’ll all be far too real._

 

“It’s okay,” Wynonna says as she moves on the edge of the bed. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll have first watch, and Doc has second. You won’t be alone, okay?”

 

It’s a strange thing, because she’s been alone for most of her life, but now that she’s had someone, now that she knows what it’s like to have _her_ someone, the thought of being alone again is terrifying.

 

She always thought people would want to suffer in silence and solitude after the death of their soulmate, but now, the thought takes her breath away.

 

“Please…” Nicole breathes, as sleep laps at her heels like the ocean that’s so very far away from here.

 

That she never took Waverly to see.

 

“It’s okay, Nicole,” Wynonna says softly, and it breaks Nicole’s heart all over again, because she would have been a wonderful mother, soft hands and a soft heart like this. She would have been _incredible_.

 

“It’s okay, we’ve got you. Sleep, now, okay? _Sleep_.”

  


-

  


She wakes sometime in the early morning with Doc asleep in the chair across her room from the bed, and it barely makes a dent in her grief, but it means something, that Wynonna had meant it when she said Nicole wouldn’t be alone.

 

She’s still wearing all of her clothes from the funeral, and she moves to strip her top layer off because it feels wrong to wear this, in Waverly’s bed, in _their_ bed, even if she supposes it doesn’t really matter anymore.

 

Because nothing really matters anymore.

 

She pulls her cardigan off and her fingers glance over the rings around a chain at her neck. Waverly’s rings.

 

She had wanted to bury them with Waverly, but it had been Wynonna’s idea to give them to Nicole instead.

 

“She never took them off, Wynonna,” Nicole had tried. “Never, she should go with… she should have them.”

 

“If you don’t want them, then that’s what we’ll do, but I know she would have wanted something for you to have. Something for you to wear, if you wanted,” Wynonna had said quietly, with tears in her eyes.

 

She’d given a small nod as her throat thickened, and Wynonna had pressed them into Nicole’s hand, on a chain Nicole knows she had seen around Wynonna’s own neck, as they’d walked down the stairs to begin the…

 

… to begin to say goodbye.

  


-

  


Nicole plays with Waverly’s rings the full length of the service, not letting go of them once.

 

They hang from the loose chain dangling between her breasts, her pulse keeping them warm, that Nicole knows Wynonna hasn’t taken off the entire time they’ve known each other. But she’d given it up, in an instant, for Nicole.

 

For _Waverly_ , for Nicole.

 

They don’t need to be around her neck, Nicole knows they would fit on her fingers, because she has at least a dozen memories of Waverly, sitting half in her lap on the couch at the homestead, pulling them off her own fingers and onto Nicole’s.

 

“See baby,” she can hear Waverly’s voice as clear in her mind as if Waverly were standing next to her and not scattered across the ground around them. “They _do_ fit. I told you they’d fit.”

 

Nicole knows she could wear the rings, _just_ , because Waverly had shown her how they’d fit - Waverly had shown her how _everything_ fit - but it feels better having them around her neck, resting close to her heart.

 

Doc had meant to lead the service this morning, but he hadn’t been able to…he _couldn’t_ … Gus had needed to find them someone else.

 

The minister —someone Gus assures Nicole knew Waverly and loved her, too— speaks in a tone that should be calming, with a voice that should be balming, but it’s not, it isn’t, because none of them should be here, and none of this should be happening, and Waverly should be here holding Nicole’s hand instead of gone, _gone, baby, you can’t really be_ **_gone_ **.

  


-

  


Nicole sleeps at the homestead for the first few days after, because she can’t bear to be in her own house, because it’s so full of memories of them that she wants to burn the damn thing to the ground.

 

She finds Wynonna outside often, watching for a sign of Waverly in the light amidst the black in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep.

 

Wynonna always turns to her with exactly the same expression, like she’s been expecting Nicole for hours, before handing Nicole her glass of whiskey and turning back to the sky.

 

“I miss her already,” Nicole says after a minute, or maybe an hour. “I miss her like my heart’s missing, and it’s only been a _day_ , Wynonna. How the hell am I going to live the rest of my life witho—“

 

Her voice cracks as rough and broken as her heart feels in her chest over the syllable, and her eyes flood with tears, and her lungs just _stop_ working…

 

…and then Wynonna reaches for her hand.

 

She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t pay Nicole any additional mind, but she squeezes Nicole’s hand in a way that tells her she isn’t alone. That she’s not ever going to be alone, even though she doesn’t feel like she’s never not going to feel lonely again.

 

The breath that she squeezes from her lungs is heavy and cloying, but she frees it from her chest regardless, even though she’d rather let it suffocate her, because that isn’t what Waverly would have wanted.

 

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Nicole asks once she starts to shiver, and the whiskey is long gone. “Wherever she is, she’s okay?”

 

It’s something she hasn’t stopped thinking about since the light slipped from Waverly’s eyes, that she’s worried, no —she’s fucking _terrified_ — that wherever Waverly is, whether it’s somewhere or _nowhere_ , that it’s a safe place. That she’s okay.

 

That she’s not in pain anymore.

 

“She’s okay, Nicole,” Wynonna answers, turning to face her for the first time since she had sat down, and Nicole can tell, even in the dark, that she’s been crying this whole time. “You know how I know? How I know that wherever she is, that she’s okay?”

 

“How?” Nicole breathes like she’s trying to drag the ocean floor up from the depths with her bare hands. Like it costs her everything to ask it.

 

And Wynonna’s reply is simple, elegant almost, just like Waverly was, and when she speaks, her grip tightens like stone, like Nicole is her last physical tie to her sister, like she never intends to let Nicole go until they both go, too.

 

“Because she couldn’t be anywhere else.”

  


-

  


“Jesus you’re going to think I’m crazy, but…” Wynonna says as she runs her hands over her face and rubs at her eyes, under the stars four nights later. “Have you…have you _seen_ her?”

 

“What do you mean?” Nicole asks, her voice gravelly and broken, because sometimes she sees light, but then she remembers that the love of her life is dead, and nothing will ever _not_ be broken again.

 

“I mean, have you seen her?” Wynonna asks quietly. “Have you seen her…have you seen her ghost?”

 

“No,” Nicole answers, and it breaks her goddamn heart all over again, because if Waverly is able to appear to them, if she’s come to Wynonna, then _why_ hasn’t she come to Nicole. “Have you?”

 

There’s a long silence before Wynonna speaks, and Nicole can feel every hair on her arms and neck raise and stand on end, her whole body tensed in anticipation. The air changes around them, like someone’s torn a rip in a layer deeper than the world they’re currently sitting in, exposing a place with a chilled wind.

 

“A few times,” Wynonna says, and Nicole’s heart cracks deeper. “And I know better than to think ghosts aren’t real, but I didn’t know if I was just seeing things because I wanted to see her so badly I was creating her. But if you’d seen them, too, maybe it’s not just in my head.”

 

“I don’t think that means she’s not really coming to see you,” Nicole breathes in return, because she won’t kill the small bit of hope Wynonna has, just because Waverly hasn’t come to her. “If it’s just you that’s seen her, I mean.”

 

They don’t talk for a long time, and the whiskey burns hot in her throat before Wynonna speaks again.

 

“If she’s real,” Wynonna says finally as she puts her hand on Nicole thigh in comfort. “She’ll come for you, too. You know she will.”

 

_But if she loves me, then why?_ Nicole thinks as she clutches so hard at the glass in her hand that she thinks she can feel it crack along the crystalline planes that hold it together. _Why hasn’t she come for me already?_

  


-

  


It’s a full week before Waverly comes to her in her sleep, beckoning her into consciousness like a siren.

 

Nicole’s still in Waverly’s bed, in their bed - in no one’s bed now - when finally, finally, Waverly comes.

 

“Hi, baby,” Ghost Waverly says as she lies on her side with her hands propping her head up off the pillow slightly, tears in her eyes. It’s so Waverly, and she’s here, _finally_ she’s here, that Nicole takes a deep breath and _breaks_.

 

“I’m sorry, Nicole. I’m so, _so_ sorry,” Waverly sobs at the sight of Nicole breaking down. She reaches for Nicole, but her hands pass through her forearm like smoke.

 

It’s a long time before Nicole can speak, when she can calm herself to a level that she knows she’ll be coherent. Minutes, hours maybe, not that it matters, because Waverly is here in front of her, real or not, and Nicole drinks the image in around trying to steady herself, desperately committing to memory the small details she’s already forgotten about; how high the piercings in her lobe are, where every freckle is.

 

“You’re here,” Nicole breathes, blinking to test her vision, to test her reality, because she’s not certain she’s actually awake, that the apparition is real.

 

“I’m here,” Waverly replies simply, softly, her eyes heavy, and Nicole thinks she sees Waverly’s hand move involuntarily to wipe at the tears on her cheeks before she catches herself, holding it back.

 

_It is Waverly_ , she thinks with a punch to the gut. _It is her, and not just my mind playing a trick._

 

“Where have you been?” Nicole asks finally between the stabbing pains in her chest where she knows her heart used to be. “Why did you come to Wynonna and not…”

 

Waverly’s worn an expression that tells Nicole she’s trying to do the same thing - memorise every line of Nicole’s face - until now, slightly wonder-filled, but it shifts into something painful and wounded, guilty, when Nicole asks her question.

 

“Because I couldn’t bear it,” Waverly says quietly, her voice laden with guilt as her hands reach for Nicole’s. “Because I let you down, and I di…I left, baby. I left you. And I couldn’t stand the thought that you might hate me for leaving, not with all the other guilt. It’s crushing, Nicole. I feel like I’m dying all over again.”

 

“Hate you?” Nicole asks, and she has to put her hand hard over her heart, because it hurts - god, it hurts - that Waverly could ever think as much. “Wave, I let you down, we all did, how could I ever hate you?”

 

“Because I left,” Waverly replies simply, her eyes filling with tears. “Because I left, Nicole, and I can’t ever…because I left. I left you and our life together and our future. I _left_.”

 

“Baby, you didn’t leave, you died,” Nicole says, her voice cracking under the truth of it. “I could never… I could never, _ever_ hate you for that. I hate myself, I hate everything else, but I could _never_ hate you.”

 

“Please don’t,” Waverly sobs, and she does reach for Nicole then, but it does little good. Her touch is like a cool breath, but it’s not whole, it doesn’t do more than move through. It only upsets Waverly more. “Please, Nicole, please don’t hate yourself, please. It’s not your fault, it’s not, it’s _not_.”

 

“It is,” Nicole says in reply, her hands twisting in the blankets fiercely, because she can’t touch anything else, and it’s almost worse, to have Waverly here, to hear her voice and see her cry, but not be able to do a damn thing about it. “Wave, I should have seen him coming, I should have known he wasn’t human, I should have seen the shot, I should have given you a vest, I should have-“

 

“You did everything right,” Waverly returns, wiping roughly at tears that won’t ever touch Nicole’s skin, or soak into the shirt at her shoulder again. “You loved me, Nicole. You have me a home, you gave me a place that I felt safe, where I _always_ felt safe, no matter what.”

 

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Nicole says, hiccuping with a sob. “It wasn’t safe at all. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

 

“It was, baby,” Waverly affirms, and she reaches for Nicole, purposefully then, hand lingering at Nicole’s cheek so she can feel the almost touch like a gentle weight. “It was, I promise you. It was everything. You were everything.”

 

But she wasn’t. She wasn’t enough, she wasn’t everything, or Nicole would have been able to save her, she would have been able to stop the bleeding, she would have been able to _fix_ it.  

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Nicole says, because it’s the thing that’s been eating away at her every second since the service, choking her. “I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know how to get on with my life. I don’t know how to get out of bed, knowing you won’t be there when I get home.”

 

“You’ve gotta live, Nicole,” Waverly replies softly, her eyes imploring. “For me, for the people around you that need you. You’ve gotta live.”

 

“But it’s not living, is it?” Nicole says, and she doesn’t bother to temper the hurt, or the anger in her words. “It’s existing. It’s not…”

 

It’s not enough, she wants to say. It’s not enough now, that there are other people who need her, that she still has a job to do. Her duty comes close, it calls her more than anything else, but even that isn’t enough. It’s not _enough_ , because Waverly’s gone, and this future that Nicole has to go and build now, that she has to go and live, it doesn’t have her in it.

 

“Nicole,” Waverly says, and Nicole’s eyes refocus, only to see Waverly blurring at the edges. “I have to go, I have to…”

 

“No,” Nicole replies quickly, desperately, scrambling to reach for Waverly across the distance between them that feels like an ocean now. “No, you can’t go, you just got here. Stay, Wave. Please, baby, stay.”

 

“I can’t,” Waverly says, growing fainter and fainter. She’s calmer than Nicole’s high pitch, like she knew this was an eventuality, like she knew it was going to happen all along. “I have to go, Nicole. I have to go. This isn’t my place now.”

 

“But it _is_ ,” Nicole grits out around a sob, biting back the panic. “It is, this is your home, Waverly. This is your home.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Waverly replies, and when she reaches out to touch Nicole, she can’t even feel the faint rush of air anymore. “It’s not, Nicole. Not anymore.”

 

“Waverly, wait,” Nicole says, loud enough to wake the lightly sleeping Doc and Wynonna next door, but she doesn’t care, because Waverly’s almost entirely gone now, and there are a hundred - a _thousand_ \- things Nicole needed to ask before she left.

 

Like, _how do I remember the noise you make when you stretch in bed next to me in the morning,_ and _how do I remember the way you look when it’s been raining_ and _how do I remember not to forget the best thing that ever happened to me._

 

It overwhelms her, like a rogue high wave, her grief, it hits her like a physical blow, and all of a sudden she can’t breathe. The room is too dark and Waverly’s gone and it’s lost, her future, her life, everything’s lost.

 

She sits up, trying to draw the air into her lungs that way, but she may as well be underwater for all the good it does. She can hear Doc and Wynonna calling for her at the door, can hear their panicked tone, their hands pounding on the wood, but they won’t get to her in time, not before the light fades completely, and her own consciousness slips.

 

Doc’s voice is calmer, but Wynonna’s is strangled, almost unrecognisable, and Nicole can vaguely see them break through the door and rush into the room before she collapses…

 

…she wonders if she’ll see Waverly when she passes out.

 

She wonders whether she’ll ever see her again.

  


-

  


_Interlude._

  


-

  


They get worse, the nightmares.

 

Worse.

 

And worse.

  


-

  


**Three.**

 

Pity is a rot.

  


-

  


She thinks death would hurt less.

 

Because this, seeing Waverly with _him_ , it’s excruciating.

  


-

  


She didn’t even know anything was wrong.

 

That’s how much Waverly put into their relationship. That she was a hundred percent in, until she wasn’t.

 

Until she was a hundred percent out.

 

It doesn’t happen slowly, it happens quickly, all at once.

 

And honestly, she doesn't know if it’s better or worse this way.

 

Whether it would have been better to see things slowly degrade, to have a chance to try and repair what was broken, to try and fix things before they got to a stage that was unbearable for Waverly. Or whether it’s better this way, because nothing’s even broken on her end, but she knows there’s no way of fixing what’s wrong on Waverly’s, so maybe it was better not to suffer through the trying.

  


-

  


She comes home from work one night and finds Waverly sitting at the kitchen table, twirling a ring Nicole had given Waverly, one of hers —because Waverly had fallen love in with it from the first moment they started weaving their fingers together— on top of the wood.

 

It’s a slow revolution the ring makes, around and around and _around,_ until it begins to shake, begins to _waver_ , and falls heavily, toppling onto its side with a rattle that shakes loose Nicole’s bones.

 

Nicole knows something is wrong from _that_ instant, when metal kisses wood, and she can’t put her finger on it, but it feels like there’s death in the house.

 

Not _a_ death, just _death_. Final and infinite and black.

 

Heavy and cloying and sweet like honey to drag her down to her death.

 

Waverly looks up at her when the ring stops it’s dance against the table top, as if noticing Nicole for the first time since she walked into the room.

 

She looks up, and her eyes look different to Nicole. They’re closed off. They look, she thinks, the same as the very first day she met Waverly, before Waverly was her anything.

 

Waverly sees Nicole, sees her standing there, and her hand covers the ring on the table, as if putting out a candle flame. Her lip quakes, but her eyes are still different, and she opens her mouth to speak before she bursts suddenly and completely into tears, and Nicole knows that something is _very_ wrong.  

 

Words come out of Waverly’s mouth, but Nicole doesn’t hear them, because her body already feels dangerously light, such is the feeling before one faints.

 

Her eyes see the sounds mouthed out, though.

 

She grasps desperately and unclearly for the stability of the door frame to her left when her knees go weak, catching the inside of her palm on a shard of splintered wood.

 

Waverly speaks a little louder, unsure if Nicole heard her the first time, but she did, she _had_ , so with the repeat, Waverly breaks her heart with a _crack_ in front of her on the kitchen floor.

 

“I need to…we need to talk.”

  


-

  


The talk comes back to her later in small tormenting fragments, and she says talk, because it _wasn’t_ a fight, because there wasn’t anything left around which Nicole could grab hold of and fight with, or against.

 

Because in one fell swoop, Waverly cuts clean through every footfall and foothold in the wall that was once their bedroom, where every night she - no, _they_ \- laid their hearts to rest.

 

She tries to reason with Waverly first.

 

“Look, Wave, I get that you’re scared, okay?” her voice is pleading. “I get that this is all new and frightening, and we’re in a small town, and that makes it worse, but we can…we can slow down, if that’s what you want? I can back off for a while, but you don’t have to…”

 

She knows she’s begging, and it should be beneath her, but it’s not. Because she’ll do anything in that moment. Because she knows that if Waverly Earp leaves this house, she’ll never come back.

 

“I’m not…” Waverly trails off, and Nicole knows she’s about to say _I’m not scared,_ and Nicole wonders why she doesn’t, why she can’t make herself utter the words. Somehow she thinks it’s for her sake, rather than because Waverly _can’t_. “It's not that, okay? It’s just… it’s just the right thing to do.”

 

“The right thing to do?” Nicole asks, and she’s aghast, honestly she is. “The right thing to do, Waverly, how? How can it be the right thing to do? In what world is it the right thing to do, I don’t understand. Please, just talk to me, okay, tell me what’s happened? What’s made you change your mind like this?”

 

“I haven’t changed my mind, Nicole,” Waverly says, and she’s calm, like she’s been practising this speech. She’s prepared, Nicole thinks, probably for every question she could send back to her. “I haven’t, I told you, it’s just the right thing to do.”

 

She’s solid, unwavering in her resolution, and it only makes Nicole feel sicker, because she knows there isn’t going to be anything she can do to change whatever it is that’s gone wrong.

 

“I just… I don’t understand, Wave,” Nicole pleads, and she’s not far from falling on her knees. They feel weak enough to. “Just, I don’t understand. Can you help me do that, at least? Understand? Maybe then we could talk, or...”

 

She’s not even sure what on earth she could say to finish that sentence off that doesn’t sound like a pathetic plea so far from who she is, from who they’ve both been in this relationship. It _hurts,_ that realisation, that the Waverly sitting calmly in front of her isn’t the one she fell in love with.

 

She thinks she knows then that it’s lost.

 

That it’s all lost.

 

Waverly looks to her, and her face is sad, but she’s strong, she’s firm, she’s made up her mind on whatever it is she’s about to say. Only the worst thing Nicole is imaging that she could say, the _worst_ , it doesn’t even come close.

 

“I don’t love you anymore.”

 

That’s it. Just like that. Clean and simple and lethal.

 

_I don’t love you anymore._

 

Nicole keeps the hand actually bleeding, the one with a messy cut across her palm, clutching the door frame, holding the other suspended between them, reaching for Waverly, but not. It feels like they should both be bleeding there, though, and not just one. Like there should be red all over her hands from her heart, but there’s not.

 

There’s _nothing_.

 

Just like the look on Waverly’s face.

 

There’s nothing there, until there’s something.

 

And the thing that walls the hole in Nicole’s chest up then and there - the thing that keeps her shredded heart beating - isn’t her own strength of character, or her own survival instincts, and it isn’t Waverly’s words either, it’s _that_ look. Because it isn’t regret or sorrow.

 

It’s pity.

 

And she won’t have that from _anyone_. Not even Waverly Earp.

 

Well, _this_ Nicole won’t. The one in this moment won’t. But the one that spends the next seventy-eight days crying herself to sleep will. _She’ll_ take anything. Anything that brings Waverly Earp back into her house.

 

Because she leaves. She leaves, and her girlfriend, _that_ Waverly, she doesn’t ever come back.

  


-

  


She doesn’t sleep for a week.

 

She dozes, intermittent smatterings where her eyes close for a while, but it’s not _sleep_.

 

It’s the barest sustenance, only _just_ enough to keep her from slipping somewhere pleasant, somewhere calm, somewhere where her heart doesn’t _ache_ every single time it beats like the cut on her palm that refuses to heal.

 

She only eats when someone else puts something in front of her, Nedley or one of the other deputies, or Wynonna even, in a turn that makes Nicole’s heart ache harder.

 

It doesn’t take her long to take Nicole aside, in the first few days, her hand firm, but not hard, at her elbow while the others are at lunch.

 

The door into Nedley's office shuts behind them, and Nicole’s eyes find the worn leather of the couch traitorously; where they had kissed for the first time, where Nicole’s whole world had tilted on its axis and changed, where she thought she had found the love of her life.

 

_No_ , she stops herself then. _You_ **_did_ ** _find the love of your life there. But Waverly didn’t find hers._

 

Only she did, Nicole _knows_ she did, she’d felt it, they both had, but none of that matters if Waverly doesn’t want her now.

 

“What did you do?” are the first words that come out of Wynonna’s mouth when she turns to Nicole, only her voice isn’t angry, it’s not accusatory, it’s sad.

 

So very, _very_ sad.

 

“What?” Nicole asks roughly, her voice gravelly from misuse, because she’s hardly spoken unless spoken to since Waverly…

 

“I said what did you do?” Wynonna asks her again, slower, her grip on Nicole’s elbow easing. “Was it another bungled paternity test, or did you do something worse?”

 

“What?” Nicole says again, still not understanding what it is Wynonna is asking of her, until it settles.

 

What did you do to make Waverly leave you. _That’s_ what Wynonna is asking.

 

Wynonna watches her find the meaning of her words, not bothering to ask again, only waiting for Nicole to speak.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Nicole says quietly, looking to Wynonna, pleading for her to believe what it is Nicole’s saying, not to ask questions that Nicole _knows_ she can’t answer. “I have been wracking my brain for something - _anything_ \- to explain this, and I can’t find a damn thing.”

 

“What happened?” Wynonna asks softly, her hand dropping from Nicole’s elbow, the feeling of loneliness rushing back over Nicole like a tidal wave in the absence of human touch.

 

“I came home and she said she didn’t love me,” Nicole says simply, and it takes everything she has not to sob after the words, her gut twisting painfully with the effort.

 

“Bullshit,” Wynonna replies, shaking her head and looking to the ground. “That’s bullshit. That girl loves you, Nicole. She _loves_ you. More than she’s ever loved anything in her life.”

 

“Not anymore,” Nicole shrugs, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. “I thought so, too, but…”

 

“Bullshit,” Wynonna says again, pacing with her hand on her hips. “She loves you, Nicole. I know she does.”

 

“She _loved_ me,” Nicole clarifies, looking to Wynonna and finding true confusion on her face, like she has no idea how they came to be here either. “You didn’t see the way she said it, Wynonna. It’s done. It’s over. Maybe it was too much, too fast. Maybe I shouldn’t have let things move so far, I should’ve slowed things down, it was just… that’s what I thought she wanted.”

 

“There were two of you in that relationship, Nicole, and my sister is perfectly capable of speaking her mind,” Wynonna says to her, looking her carefully in the eye, and she understands what it is Wynonna is offering her, peace over the thought that she pushed Waverly into anything she didn’t want. “It was what she wanted. I was there, Haught. I know it was what she wanted.”

 

“Well, it’s not what she wants anymore,” Nicole replies with a shrug, and it hurts, how simple and easy that realisation is to find, how minimal her hope of things turning back has become.

 

“Did you try and talk her out of it?” Wynonna asks, dropping her hands to her sides with a _slap_. “Did you try and reason with her?”

 

“Until my voice was hoarse,” Nicole replies, her voice heavy with grief, almost overwhelmed with it. “Again and again and again, but she didn’t flinch, not once, she just sat there, calm and quiet, and listened to me pour my heart out, only to tell me that she didn’t love me.”

 

“You don’t think…” Wynonna begins, and Nicole knows what she’s asking, whether Waverly was really Waverly, and not possessed or tainted or somehow being controlled by someone that wasn’t her.

 

“It was her, Wynonna,” Nicole says finally in reply, taking a few steps to lean against the door, her body beginning to feel weak again. “I know it was.”

 

They’re both silent for a moment, Nicole counting breath after breath, adding them to the total number between now, and when Waverly had…

 

“Has she said anything to you?” Nicole asks quietly, almost _afraid_ to, but Wynonna shakes her head and Nicole breathes again.

 

“Nothing,” Wynonna says with a look that almost feels like disgust. “Every time I ask, she shuts me down. Hell, she isn’t even at home anymore, not after I told her I wouldn’t have Champ on the property again.”

 

“So…” Nicole asks before wishing she _hadn’t_ , because if Waverly isn’t at home with Wynonna, then she must be…

 

It’s some small comfort, though, that Wynonna is so adverse to him, knowing that she’s not simply taking her sister’s side.

 

Knowing that Wynonna seems as completely _blindsided_ about this as Nicole feels.

 

“She’ll come to her senses,” Wynonna says, and Nicole knows she wants to mean it, she _truly_ does, but there isn’t enough substance behind it.

 

“I don’t know if she will, Wynonna,” Nicole replies, the tears at her eyes and sob in her throat _overwhelming_ her, giving her no option but to be inundated with pain, searing and white hot in her chest.

 

“I don’t know if she _will_.”

  


-

  


She cries herself to sleep that night, and the night that follows, and the one after, because if Wynonna doesn’t have hope, then how the hell can she?

  


-

  


Waverly’s hand hovers over Nicole’s ring on the table before scooping it up neatly, but slowly, holding her hand palm up for Nicole to take the small circle from her.

 

And it seems such a far away dream now, but Nicole’s always thought of it as being a placeholder, until she could give Waverly the real thing, something diamond and fitting and perfect.

 

The circle isn’t hopeful anymore, though, the arc of the band isn’t friendly. Instead it just taunts her, and the eternity it’s intended replacement was supposed to represent is one of pain now, one of lifelong heartbreak, without Waverly Earp.

 

She understands what Waverly is doing before her girlfriend —no, her _ex_ -girlfriend— opens her mouth and speaks. She’s trying to give the ring back, but Nicole isn’t having any of it. Because it doesn’t belong to her anymore, no matter what Waverly is or _was_ to her, the ring is hers.

 

“It’s yours, Waverly,” Nicole says, shaking her head, her voice breaking, and she doesn’t miss the way that Waverly bristles just a little at the use of her full name. “Keep it.”

 

Waverly stills at that, and Nicole can see her cheeks clench when she drops her head, not looking at Nicole when her hand closes around the ring, the gold circle disappearing from view, for the last time, perhaps, because the second it leaves this house, Nicole doesn’t know if she’ll ever see it again.

 

“I would have loved you forever, you know,” Nicole says, trying to sound cold and unaffected, even though they both hear the _I_ **_will_ ** _love you forever_ that echos heavily and painfully against her skin like a slap, chasing the spoken words.

 

“I know, Nicole,” Waverly says sadly, and she watches as Waverly’s heart breaks for Nicole, but not for _them_. “That’s the problem.”

  


-

  


She’s still wearing Nicole’s ring three weeks later when she sees them walking down the street with Champ’s thick arm over Waverly’s shoulders.

 

She’s looking up to him with the same soft eyes she was looking at Nicole with less than a month ago, and she doesn’t even bother to pull his arm away from her neck when it tightens so he can kiss her on the cheek, she leans into it instead, and the whole exchange makes Nicole feel _sick_.

 

All of a sudden she’s overwhelmed, with images of him heavy over Waverly’s small frame, dominating and hard and far too much, and then worse, far, _far_ worse.

 

Of Waverly arching to _meet_ him.

 

Waverly looks up when he lifts his lips from her ski,n and in her movement, she catches Nicole looking over to them, watching them both from the other side of the road.

 

She raises her hand slowly, carefully, to Nicole, as one might raise their hand to a spooked dog, and Nicole’s heart almost falls out of her chest via her throat, because there, glinting on Waverly’s finger, isn’t a ring from Champ, it’s _her_ ring. Nicole’s ring.

 

Well, Waverly’s, if they’re being technical about its owner now.

 

But, the specifics don’t matter, what _does_ is that Waverly’s wearing it. Because that has to mean something, doesn’t it?

  


-

  


She should know better than to be hopeful, because it could mean nothing, that she’s still wearing the ring, but Nicole just can’t help herself.

 

She knows it’s woefully out of character, to cling to something so small when she recalls the way Waverly had delivered the deathblow across that table, but Waverly Earp is the love of her life, Nicole knows that she is, and she can’t give up the last scrap of hope, because she knows that deep down, it’ll be the last piece she ever gets.

  


-

  


Nicole stops in at the store to find something to eat, something frozen and probably not remotely nutritious despite what it says on the box, and only because Nedley said if she came in again tomorrow looking like she hadn’t eaten, he’d walk her to Shorty’s himself and make her eat a meal. She hates how out of character this whole mess has made her, but she doesn’t have the strength to snap herself out of it yet.

 

She’s not sure if she ever will.

 

She doesn’t loiter or browse in the store, walking straight for the freezer section and picking out the first thing that looks to have an appropriate mix of meat and vegetables before walking to the counter to pay.

 

It’s the end of the day and she’s exhausted and her guard is down, so when she turns the corner at the end of the aisle and bumps - literally - into Waverly Earp, she almost faints, because _that_ would be a simpler response than having to talk to Waverly, face to face for the first time since she had…

 

“Hi,” Waverly offers quietly, at least having the modesty to look a little concerned at Nicole’s presentation, at the deep circles Nicole knows rest under her eyes.

 

“Hi,” Nicole replies simply, already trying to manufacture a reason for needing to leave here immediately and rush off to tend to some fictional emergency, because she can’t do this right now. She just _can’t_.

 

“Are you okay?” Waverly asks, and Nicole could laugh, that’s how ridiculous the question is, but she doesn’t. She wants to shrug or scream or say _something,_ but Waverly’s looking at her with that same expression she had the night she had left.

 

Pity.

 

And Nicole won’t have it.

 

“I’m fine, Waverly,” she says simply, a little coldly, and Waverly’s brow crinkles at the blatant lie.

 

“Wynonna said…” she begins, before she breaks off and starts again. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you but, I heard you weren’t, and I wanted to… I was worried about you.”

 

“You were?” Nicole asks, and she hadn’t planned to turn soft like this. She had intended to be firm, to be closed off, exactly like the plan she had formulated and run through in her head over and over again, but her traitorous heart gives in at the first sight of softness from Waverly.

 

“Of course I was,” Waverly replies, her face breaking into something softer than pity. “I am, Nicole. I still care about you, even if we’re not…”

 

There’s some distant light there in her eyes that Nicole picks up on, some familiarity that strikes a match in her cold, broken, _empty_ chest, and she reaches for it before she can stop herself.

 

“I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime?” Nicole asks quietly, hesitantly, standing beside the freezer section like a fool, but Waverly is wearing that ring and it has to _mean_ something.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Waverly replies easily, smiling and nodding, a solid version of the Waverly she knows, and not this stranger she barely understands.  

 

Someone opens the freezer next to them, and the draft ripples down the aisle, finding them, and Waverly wraps her arms around her in a way that means she’s cold, that Nicole used to love to slip her arms beneath and pull Waverly flush against her chest to keep her warm.

 

“Great,” Nicole gushes, relief and happiness and something like hope flooding her system. “That’s great, Wave, because I’ve missed you, and-”

 

“Just as friends, though, right?” Waverly says slowly, cutting Nicole off mid-sentence. “Because I… I don’t want you to get the wrong impression or anything. It’d be great to be your friend, Nicole, but… I’m with him now. With Champ, I mean. And you and me? I like you, Nicole, and I care about you, but…friends is all we’re ever gonna be.”

 

And she knows it’s rude, she knows that it’s childish, that her grandfather would rap her over the knuckles for it in fact, but Waverly’s words wash over her, firm and solid and unflinching, and she turns, without word or explanation, and _runs_.

 

Because Waverly’s voice finds her with the same kind of pity her look had held over a month ago now, and it makes Nicole feel physically ill, and it hurts, almost as much as _I don’t love you anymore_ had, and she needs to leave. Now.

 

Because this Waverly Earp, the one that isn’t _hers_ , doesn’t get to see her cry.

  


-

  


She _knows_ she shouldn’t go into Shorty’s.

 

She hasn’t spoken to Waverly since their conversation a few nights ago in the grocery store, has gone out of her way, in fact, to avoid her - crossing the street if she sees Waverly ahead, making certain that she’s out on patrol if she knows Waverly is coming in on Black Badge authority to work with her sister - and, thus far, it’s worked reasonably well.

 

Because the definition of _well_ involves her not being alone with Waverly, and that, at least, she has success on, even if she hasn’t succeeded in anything else, like not crying herself to sleep, or not thinking about Waverly every other second of the day.

 

And she thinks it’s that which draws her to the bar, that she’s trying actively to avoid Waverly, but she misses her, too - _god,_ she misses her - she misses everything about her.

 

She misses the way Waverly’s smile would light up her heart, no matter how difficult their days had been. She misses Waverly’s fingers delicately winding in the hair at the nape of her neck distractedly. She misses the way Waverly would fold herself into her arms, half-asleep in the middle of the night.

 

Everything. She misses everything.

 

So that’s why she goes, to catch a glance, to torture herself just a little more today, as if the day hasn’t been hard enough.

 

Waverly’s at the bar, talking to Doc animatedly, her elbows on the worn wood and her eyes bright, and at the sound of the door opening, they both turn and look to her.

 

“Sorry,” Nicole says immediately, casting her eyes around the otherwise deserted bar, because it seems about the only thing she can say at present. “If you’re closed, I can…”

 

“Nonsense,” Doc replies warmly, gesturing her in with his arm, moving from behind the bar to meet her halfway, as if knowing how difficult the second half of that walk would be, the half she needs to cross to get to the bar.

 

And to Waverly.

 

“Hi, Nicole,” Waverly says quietly, and the look on her face is different this time, it’s slightly more reserved than it had been in the grocery store, she’s more cautious now, the tone closer to the one she uses for strangers.

 

But there’s a lack of something important there, too, some flash of something simple, like happiness, like she’s genuinely glad to see Nicole. It’s absent, completely, it’s just not there.

 

There’s nothing for her to bend towards this time, not like she had at the grocery store. Because Waverly has made her decision, she’s made it clearly, and more than once. The glint in Waverly’s eye is different this time; it’s odd, it’s not as conflicted as the other looks she has given Nicole have been, its black and white. It’s over.

 

She does something unexpected then, though. She pats the seat next to her, and it might look like an olive branch to anyone else, but it makes Nicole feel ill all over again, because the pity is almost choking. She thinks about running again, but she doesn’t want to be that person, the one who can’t even look her truth in the eye. If this is what Waverly wants, this revised future, then Nicole knows she needs to be happy for her, even if the pain of it kills her.

 

So Nicole swallows her pride, taking the pity into her lungs and ignoring the fierce burn of it when she does so, settling on the stool. It’s a strange sensation, because she’s close to Waverly physically now, but she’s never felt further away from another person in her life, either.

 

The craving for a flash of warmth - of the way Waverly used to be when Nicole would walk into a room, that quick wink or smile - is immense, it’s _overwhelming_ , and she’s thankful for the chair, sure her knees would have buckled beneath it otherwise. She barely has the chance to catch her breath when the door to the bar creaks again, knocking against the stop with the force of it being opened a touch too aggressively, and in walks a sight that hits Nicole exactly over her weak and compromised heart.

 

“There you are,” Champ announces casually, looking to Waverly before sparing a glance at Nicole. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

 

“I requested Waverly’s assistance with a matter,” Doc says firmly, and Nicole watches as he sets his eyes on Champ with a resigned annoyance that Nicole has scarcely seen from him before. “A private matter, Mr. Hardy.”

 

He makes his way over to the three of them, wrapping his arms around Waverly’s middle, pressing a quick kiss to her neck before he turns and looks at Nicole. She braces herself for an argument, for some snide or cruel remark, tensing her stomach and balling her hands into fists in anticipation, but nothing comes. _Nothing_.

 

“Can I have a beer?” he says instead, dropping onto the stool on the other side of Waverly, and Nicole feels his nonchalance like a knife to the gut, like some final nail in the coffin, because he doesn’t care; he couldn’t give a damn about her.

 

He used to hate her, she’s seen the loathing in his eyes before, but there’s a complete lack of it now, and that hurts more than anything, because it means she’s not a threat anymore. Whatever has happened behind closed doors has given him enough of an assurance that Nicole won’t be a threat to their relationship ever again. It smothers the last lick of flame - the last vestige of hope in her chest - instantly, her blood cooling, her breath stopping.

 

Doc slides a beer across to Champ before turning to Nicole and asking for her order, whether she wants a bite to eat, but she just shakes her head numbly instead.

 

“I actually have to go,” Nicole says, her voice wavering dangerously, sighing and trying to collect the shredded tatters of her heart before she has a chance to witness anything else pass between Waverly and Champ, because she can’t stand to watch it, she can’t. It’s just too _hard_.

 

Nicole can feel herself stand, but everything feels dulled and numb, like she’s spectating from a height or distance. Champ pulls his phone out of his pocket, and Waverly shuffles closer to better see whatever it is he’s trying to show her, the pair of them laughing at some joke Nicole can’t see. It’s the ease with which Waverly’s hand finds his thigh, resting over it in a way that Nicole can feel the ghost of on her own leg as she watches, that drives her up and off her seat.

 

“Already?” Doc asks, the disappointment and worry clear in his voice, and he looks to Waverly, as though expecting some objection from her, but she doesn’t even appear to have heard, not glancing up from Champ’s phone for a second.

 

“Duty calls,” Nicole says with a grimace, because she can’t think of anything  else, her throat thickening dangerously in a way that she knows means she needs to leave. Now.

 

She nods to Doc, scooping her hat off the bar and taking as quiet a step away as possible, hoping desperately that she might be able to slip out without them even noticing that she’s gone. Doc throws the two of them a glance before following Nicole towards the door, even though she so badly wants to just leave, to be done with this. There’s no point in talking anymore, Nicole knows there’s not, because Waverly’s his girl now, and she won’t ever be Nicole’s again.

 

She doesn’t run, she doesn’t hurry, she walks, _slowly_ , towards the door, towards somewhere that isn’t a perfect demonstration of her ruined future.

 

It doesn’t matter that she can’t run, that her heart feels like it’s trying to break free of her chest in sharp, angry shards, that she _wants_ to run, but she can’t, she just can’t.

 

She can’t do anything anymore.

 

Because Waverly isn’t hers, she’s _his_.

 

Doc catches her at the door, good, _kind_ Doc, who looks at her with the same thick pity that Waverly has in her eyes, too, and it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s all _far_ too much.

 

His arm finds the curve of her elbow at the same time as she and Doc both look to Waverly for something, some reaction of Nicole’s departure, for something, some semblance of the Waverly they know, that Nicole has come to know, that she came to _love_ , too.

 

But she doesn’t say even turn around, and Nicole just looks sadly to Doc instead, as if pleading with him not to say anything.

 

“Nicole, my dear,” he says quietly, his hand soft on her shoulder now. “This is your place now, too. You don’t need to leave.”

 

“I do,” Nicole replies with a rush of defeat, because this isn’t her place, no matter how much Doc might want to mean it. It’s theirs, and she just isn’t wanted anymore. “I’ll be seein’ ya, alright?”

 

“Later, Deputy,” Champ says from the other side of the room, and he doesn’t bother to look up, but it’s not even unkind; he even lifts his hand in a feeble goodbye. It makes Waverly’s attention waver, too, finally, and Nicole’s heart stalls, waiting for Waverly’s response.

 

Cruelty would have been less painful than what she receives, she knows it would be, because Waverly gives her a kind, casual _bye, Nicole,_ barely sparing her a second’s thought before turning back to Champ, sliding her arm around his waist.

 

Waverly doesn’t want to follow Nicole to say goodbye properly. She doesn’t even acknowledge that Nicole made it halfway across the room without her knowledge. She doesn’t come. She stays with Champ. Nicole is still alone.

 

Doc’s hand slips from its place on her shoulder, and that hurts, too, his recognition that there’s nothing for her to salvage here. That it’s better for her to leave.

 

She doesn’t cry until she walks through the front door, but it doesn’t matter, nothing does anymore, because Waverly Earp left her for Champ Hardy, and there is _nothing_ in the _whole world_ that can repair the damage of that.

  


-

  


She cries herself into a restless sleep on top of her bed around four in the morning, not even bothering to slip beneath the sheets, because honestly, she doesn’t care if she freezes to death.

 

She wakes up a few hours later, her eyes red from crying and her throat hoarse from sobbing, to a knocking on the door. She doesn’t have a clue who would be here this early aside from Nedley, so she supposes she’d best answer it, her heart sinking at the possibility that he’s here to reprimand her. She’s been so careful to keep up her work standards, but it’s possible she’s let something slip.

 

She makes her way to the door, straightening her hair as much as possible to present as clean an image as she can, holding her breath before she pulls the door back, frowning at the sunlight it throws in her eyes.

 

It’s not Nedley, though. It’s a distinctly female outline in the morning sun, and for a second, Nicole’s traitorous heart leaps because it’s small enough to be Waverly, but Waverly doesn’t wear boots that sound like that walking across her front porch.

 

“Doc told me what happened yesterday,” Wynonna says, her voice sober and plain. She sounds worried, Nicole thinks. Looks like she hasn’t slept.

 

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Nicole says before she can help herself, and Wynonna’s face hardens in a way that she knows means _yes._

 

The strength of her legs goes, but Wynonna is quicker, catching her before Nicole can fall too far, pulling her into a fierce hug that makes her ribs creak.

 

“We don’t know what’s wrong, but we’ll get to the bottom of it, okay?” Wynonna growls to her as Nicole cries into the fur of her jacket hood. “We’re not going anywhere, Nicole. She might be… but we’re not going anywhere, Doc and Dolls and I, we…”

 

“It’s too late,” Nicole breathes, and the air from outside is cold in her lungs when she draws it in, and it _hurts_. “She’s already gone, Wynonna. I can feel it. She’s already gone.”

  


-

  


Epilogue.

  


**-**

  


Her palm throbs when she opens her eyes, over the still not fully healed cut, almost worse than the headache still pounding dimly behind her eyes. She rolls over onto the pillow that she hasn’t been able to gather the strength to put through the wash yet, because Waverly’s perfume still clings to it, and so does Nicole, like a lifeline.

 

She’s surprised by the strength of it still, the scent of her shampoo, too, after all this time, and part of her wonders whether she’s not still dreaming.

 

She sweeps her arm over the opposite side of the bed, looking for the lingering warmth that she misses so desperately that tells her Waverly’s coming back, that she hasn’t been gone long. Only it’s not there. The other side is warmer than freezing cold, though, and Nicole is confused for a second before assuming she must have crept over to the other side at some stage in her sleep.

 

She closes her eyes, rolling back onto her own side, before the thought stings like a forgotten burn: they’re both her sides now, aren’t they? Because Waverly’s never coming back. Balling her fists into a tight circle, short nails biting into her palm, helps some to keep the tears back, but it doesn’t stop it all, and before she can help it, a few lone tears streak out of the corner of her eyes, wetting the pillow and her hair against the side of her face.

 

Nicole knows she’ll run out of tears eventually, she knows she’s a grown woman who should be better at holding herself together, but it’s not so easy when the person she was so certain was going to be next to her in the slow mornings for the rest of her life is gone.

 

And not just gone alone, either. Gone in bed with another.

 

She can’t think about that, though. About the fact that Champ gets to see the first sleepy smile from Waverly’s lips in the morning; gets to kiss it from them, too. She can’t think about that. She _can’t_.

 

_Get up, Nicole,_ she thinks to herself. _Get up. Put on some clothes and run until you can’t breathe anymore. Do something, anything, to burn that image out of your mind._

 

She slides down into the bed and pulls the covers over her head, shutting the world out for a second longer, losing herself in the soft perfume of Waverly’s shampoo, filling her lungs with it, and she’s about to throw them back when she hears something that sounds like a soft laugh at the bedroom door.

 

Nicole freezes, because Wynonna had left last night, she knows she had, she’d watched her walk out the door, watched her headlights move down the main road and back towards the town, and hers is the only explainable female voice in this house.

 

She knows it’s mad. She must be imagining things, because it wasn’t even the sound of Wynonna’s laugh, it was her sister’s, and there’s absolutely no way Waverly Earp could be in her house at six in the morning, not when she should be with _him_ instead.

 

“Baby, what are you doing?” comes across the room, and it chills Nicole’s blood, because there’s absolutely no mistaking who that is now.

 

She’s still dreaming, of course she is, of _course_ she is.

 

“Wake up, idiot,” Nicole says out loud, and her breath catches because this is cruel, Waverly here, in the small hours that have always been theirs. “You’re only gonna hurt more when you do, the longer you stay here.”

 

“Nicole,” Waverly says gently, and she can hear her making her way over to the bed, the board halfway there creaking beneath Waverly’s bare feet. She can picture the image so clearly, she’s watched it a thousand times.

 

She knows it’s coming, but it doesn’t make her dread it any less, the way the bed dips beneath Waverly’s weight when she crawls towards Nicole.

 

“Baby, is everything okay?” Waverly asks, her voice so careful that it makes Nicole’s throat thicken again before she pulls the covers back gently.

 

Nicole delays actually opening her eyes for as long as she can, because she knows it’ll only be worse when she does, because Waverly is her most beautiful in the mornings, her hair messy and her eyes soft.

 

“You can’t be here,” Nicole says, shaking her head, trying not to concentrate on the way the first rays of light catch the gold in Waverly’s hair through the sliver between the curtains. “You can’t be here, please just go.”

 

“Baby, what are you talking about? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Waverly’s voice is more worried now, her hands reaching to pull Nicole into a sitting position, and Nicole tries to stop her, to peel her hands away gently, because she can’t indulge in the way Waverly’s touch feels on her bare skin, she just can’t.

 

“Because you can’t be here,” Nicole says, trying to put some distance between them, so Waverly’s bare leg isn’t resting against her hip anymore, so the touch doesn’t burn. “Because I’m dreaming, because you’re supposed to be in his bed, not mine.”

 

“His bed?” Waverly asks, frowning deeply before placing her hands on either side of Nicole’s face. “His bed? Nicole what are you talking about?”

 

“Champ,” Nicole replies, and her voice breaks over his name. “He’s your… you’re not my…”

 

“Nicole, baby, you’re dreaming. Well, you were, but you’re not now, okay?” Waverly says, and she’s shaking her head and smiling, and it’s all just making this so much worse because Nicole knows she’s not, she knows it, because she’s already lost Waverly, she knows she has.

 

“No, I’m dreaming now,” Nicole returns, and it _hurts_ , how gently Waverly’s thumbs catch the tears on her cheek, because she knows it’s only temporary. “I’m dreaming now because you can’t be here. You can’t.”

 

“Nicole, look at me,” Waverly says firmly, and Nicole opens her eyes again, searching Waverly’s face for any sign of a lie or falsehood or anything, for any indication that what she’s saying isn’t true, and normally she can tell, there’s some small sign or something that gives the nightmare away as such, a freckle that’s not there on her Waverly, something that throws the illusion off.

 

“Nicole,” Waverly repeats, gentler this time, and she leans in slowly, giving Nicole an opportunity to move away or push back, but she’s frozen, she doesn’t want to move, she doesn’t want to breathe, lest she break whatever is happening here, because she thinks, she _thinks_ that this might be real.

 

That Waverly might be telling the truth. That she’s here, and she’s real and she’s Nicole’s and no one else’s.  

 

And then Waverly’s lips touch hers, and she _knows_.

 

She knows, because they say more through their kisses than words sometimes, more through their bodies than their voices. Waverly kisses her, her hands curving around the back of Nicole’s neck, and Nicole _knows_.

 

“You’re real,” Nicole says, and it’s half a sob. “You’re real.”

 

“Of course I’m real,” Waverly nods, her thumbs running along the line of Nicole’s jaw, and there’s a smile on her lips, reassuring, but a frown full of worry on her brow, too. “Baby, what are you… what’s going on? Why wouldn’t I be real?”

 

“It’s… just a bad dream, Wave,” Nicole says, shaking her head, because Willa’s death is still hanging over them all, and they still haven’t found Dolls, and the last thing they need is to worry about whatever is happening to her, too.

 

“It’s not just a bad dream,” Waverly returns, and she slides closer to Nicole, the warmth of her body against Nicole’s chilled skin a balm. “It’s a nightmare, isn’t it? A bad one?”

 

“It’s not-“ Nicole tries to reason, but Waverly interrupts her gently.

 

“Don’t say it’s not that bad,” Waverly says clearly, her hands moving down Nicole’s arms to hold her hands. “Please don’t, because I can see that it is. It’s not just a nightmare, either, is it? It’s something else.”

 

“Yeah,” Nicole admits, dropping her head. “It’s…I think it’s something else. They’re something else.”

 

“They?” Waverly asks, picking up on the plural immediately. “Are there many? Is it… do they…do they happen a lot?”

 

“There are only a few,” Nicole answers, and it’s so hard, because she doesn’t want to keep anything from Waverly anymore. but she doesn’t want to pile more worry onto her already loaded shoulders, either. “They…they just come and go. Like they take turns.”

 

“A few,” Waverly repeats, like she’s trying to understand, she’s trying to make sense of everything. “And are they…are they every night? Are they… what are they about?”

 

“Mostly,” Nicole says with a wince, as she watches the pain flicker across Waverly’s face. “They’re mostly every night, and they’re… it doesn’t matter what they’re about, Wave. It doesn’t. It only matters that they’re not nice.”

 

“About me and Champ?” Waverly asks gently, her fingers lacing with Nicole’s in her lap.

 

“About you and Champ,” Nicole confirms, and it smarts still, even though she knows it’s not real now, the image of Waverly sitting at that bar, doing nothing.

 

“How long?” Waverly asks, and Nicole can see the tears building in her eyes now, guilt, and grief. “How long have they been happening for?”

 

“Wave, it doesn’t matter, okay?” Nicole says weakly, but she knows already that Waverly won’t give this up easily.

 

“How long, Nicole,” Waverly questions again, her hands squeezing Nicole’s, and she knows it’ll hurt, how long she’s kept this inside her chest. She hopes Waverly knows that this _I thought it was for the best_ is reasonable, that it isn’t anything more than that, not like the last thing she tried to keep. “Please?”

 

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself - preparing herself, too - and she looks into Waverly’s eyes, pleading with her to understand why she kept this so close, why she didn’t say anything about it.

 

“Since Jack,” Nicole replies, the air and weight of the secret leaving her chest in a shaky rush, so deeply she feels herself shudder with it, like someone walked over her grave. “They’ve been happening since I woke up in that hospital bed.”

 

“Oh, _Nicole_ ,” Waverly says, and Nicole is bracing herself for understandable frustration mixed with upset, but it’s not there, only Waverly’s wet, worried eyes, before she pulls Nicole into a fierce hug.

 

“Please don’t be mad,” Nicole cries into Waverly’s neck, her arms wrapping around Waverly’s lower back. “Please, please don’t be mad. I didn’t want to…we’ve got so much…there’s just so much on your shoulders already, Wave, and I didn’t want to add to that, I didn’t, I’ve been… well, I thought I’d been handling it, but… I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You’re sorry?” Waverly says, and she sounds aghast, she sounds shaken, and she pulls back from Nicole to look her in the eye. “You’re sorry? Baby, _I’m_ sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know something was wrong, or I did and I’ve been too caught up in everything else to-“

 

“No, no this isn’t your fault, okay?” Nicole says desperately. “This is his, Wave. This is his fault, no one else’s.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Waverly cries, tears running freely down her cheeks now, the odd ray of light catching them as they fall before she presses herself tightly against Nicole’s chest again. “I’m so sorry, Nicole. How did I not... I’m so sorry-“

 

“It’s okay,” Nicole says, smiling through her own tears, relishing the way she can look so openly at Waverly’s face, because it feels even more like a gift now, having so recently lost it. “It’s okay, I promise you it’s okay.”

 

“It’s not. I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, I’m supposed to _know_ these things, Nicole. And, god... now I should be comforting you, I should be strong for you, and all I can do is cry myself,” Waverly shakes her head, but Nicole steadies it with careful hands on either side of her face.

 

This helps her, this always helps her, knowing that Waverly needs her to be something - calm, now - it helps calm her, it helps bring her back to earth, knowing that she needs to stabilise them both.

 

“It’s better now, it’s better just being here with you, telling you,” Nicole says quietly, looking earnestly into Waverly’s eyes, feeling her heartbeat fall into pace with Waverly’s. “It’s better knowing you’re real.”

 

“I’m real,” Waverly says, smiling through her tears now, too, and she surges forward to kiss Nicole, lingering for a moment before she pulls away to look back at her. “See, I’m real.”

 

“You’re real,” Nicole replies, and the darkness isn’t long behind her, lingering from the nightmare, but it retreats further and further in the face of Waverly’s closeness.

 

“I’m real,” Waverly says again, the smile finding her eyes, and before Nicole can reply, Waverly moves smoothly, sliding her thighs either side of Nicole’s, straddling her hips as she sits up in bed. “I can show you _how_ real, if you’d like. Just in case you’re still not sure?”

 

There’s a split second where Nicole isn’t sure that it is reality now, but then she feels Waverly’s hands cup the back of her neck, waiting patiently for her consent, and she knows. She _knows_.

 

“It’s probably a good idea,” Nicole says with a playful seriousness, her hands moving up Waverly’s thighs to rest over her hips, sighing at how good it feels to have Waverly in her hands again. How _good_. “Just to be sure, you know?”

 

“It’s vital,” Waverly returns, leaning down to press a teasingly soft kiss to Nicole’s lips, and Nicole can’t help but hum in response, the urge to pull Waverly closer almost overwhelming.

 

“Vital,” Nicole repeats, the darkness almost out of sight now, and it never ceases to amaze her, how easily the world drops away when Waverly is near her, how all the bad sinks back into the shadows and the only thing left is light.

 

Waverly’s hands slide around her neck to cup her palms over Nicole’s cheeks, and she looks to Nicole for a moment, her gaze serious, deeply genuine. “I love you,” Waverly says, and Nicole can feel the depth of it echo in her chest, collide with muscle and blood and bone, until she can feel it in her marrow. “I love you, and no one else, and I’m so sorry I didn’t know something was wrong sooner.”

 

“I love you, too,” Nicole breathes, and it’s a marvel still, that she can speak those words, that Waverly Earp loves her. “And you’re here now, that’s all that matters, baby.”

 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Waverly says, her hands moving Nicole’s head to the side so she can leave a kiss on Nicole’s throat.

 

“Wave,” Nicole protests, but Waverly’s already drawing back to shake her head.

 

“I know I don’t,” she replies carefully, her hands softening before her fingers slip into the hair at the nape of Nicole’s neck. “I know I don’t, but please, just let me…”

 

She knows that Waverly knows there’s nothing she has to make up for, that it’s not a debt she has to repay, that it doesn’t work like that with them, between them, but she wants to take care of Nicole, Nicole can feel that, she needs to make amends in her own way, and Nicole knows they could both use the catharsis, so she closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensation of Waverly’s nails scraping against her scalp

 

Nicole nods, with Waverly’s breath warm against her lips, and she can feel the change in Waverly’s body, can feel her relax just a little, can feel her slip into another skin, one intent on a different purpose; no longer apology, but care.

 

Waverly’s kisses continue down the column of Nicole’s neck, her thumbs gentle under Nicole’s chin, holding it up so she can expose as much skin as possible, and Nicole’s hands do tighten on Waverly’s hips then, when her tongue brushes over the faint pulse beating strong beneath her skin.

 

The silk nightgown Waverly’s wearing has already ridden up around her waist, given her position in Nicole’s lap, so it’s easy for Nicole’s hands to slip beneath it, to push it up a little higher until her thumbs rest on Waverly’s stomach. She can feel Waverly’s breath hitch with the movement, but it doesn’t distract her from her goal, her kisses over Nicole’s collar bone now, exposed by the loose tee she must have put on for bed the night before.

 

She tracks a path as low as the piece of clothing will allow before her hands move from Nicole’s shoulders and down her back, picking up the hem of her tee and dragging it up, up, up, until Nicole has to lift her hands from Waverly’s skin and hold them above her head so Waverly can pull the shirt off. She smiles, victorious, when she throws Nicole’s tee off the side of the bed, like she’s won the longest fought campaign of her life, a battle bloody with a heavy toll, and Nicole supposes that they have in a way - fought and lost and bled - but they’re here now, they’re alive.

 

They survived.

 

They _endured_.

 

And she knows it’s far from over, this battle, their struggle - her nightmares, too, probably - they’ll bleed more, they’ll lose more again, but they’re here, together, united, and their enemies, their struggles, they don’t stand a chance.

 

Waverly pushes her back with a hand on her chest above her heart, into the softness of their bed, and Nicole bends, she falls, and Waverly follows, leaning low over Nicole, her ponytail dropping over her shoulder to tickle against the skin of Nicole’s bare chest.

 

“Promise me you’ll tell me,” Waverly whispers as she moves lower, her mouth finding the swell of Nicole’s breast. “The next time you have a nightmare, promise me you’ll tell me, you’ll wake me, that you won’t let yourself be alone.”

 

“I promise,” Nicole replies, her body lifting from the mattress when Waverly’s mouth fixes over her nipple. “I promise, baby, I promise.”

 

“Good,” Waverly says, her tone like a dream, lighter, freer than before, her hands cupping one breast as her mouth moves to the other. “Because I’m here, Nicole. Never forget I’m here. For you. Always for you. Only for you.”

 

She moves back from Nicole for a beat, and she looks so kissable, so irresistible, her eyes a heavy black and her cheeks flushed like Nicole knows her own will be, too, and Nicole can’t help lifting off the covers to follow her. Her hands slip around Waverly’s waist, pulling her closer, always closer, until they meet from hip to chest, the warmth of Waverly’s skin almost scorching even through her nightgown.

 

_It’s time for that to go_ , Nicole thinks, her hands dragging the silk up Waverly’s body like she had done to Nicole a moment ago, tossing it absentmindedly over her shoulder before her hands settle between Waverly’s shoulder blades, drawing her back in. Nicole almost has her lips against the bare skin of Waverly’s chest before Waverly’s hands wrap around her upper arms, pushing Nicole back gently.

 

“Uh uh,” Waverly says with a fire in her eye and a smirk on her lips. “Let me take care of you.”

 

“But-“ Nicole tries to argue, but Waverly isn’t having a scrap of it, not this morning, pushing Nicole back until her head hits the pillow, and she can rise over Nicole’s body like a vision.

 

“Let me take care of you,” Waverly repeats, and it’s a question as well as a statement, as her index finger traces the line between Nicole’s breasts, circling her belly button and moving up again.

 

Nicole bites her lip in response, because she knows there will be a dangerous waver to her voice if she tries to speak now, and Waverly smiles in recognition of it. She drops her head to kiss Nicole again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against Nicole’s, hungry, hot, just the right side of desperate.

 

Her arms drape over Waverly’s shoulders when she lowers herself against Nicole’s body, fingers pushing into the hair beneath Waverly’s ponytail, smiling when Waverly growls against her lips.

 

“You’re very distracting,” Waverly admits, her voice lower than it was when they’d begun, still innocent despite the hand creeping down Nicole’s stomach.

 

“That’s the aim,” Nicole replies, and her nightmare is a more and more distant ghost on the horizon, as the image of Waverly walking away from her, away from _them_ , dissolves in the immediacy of Waverly’s touch.

 

“I’ll just have to out-distract you then, won’t I?” Waverly says with a smirk, and Nicole loves her like this, confident in herself, confident in the things she can make Nicole feel.

 

“I don’t know about th-“ Nicole begins, but Waverly’s hand slips beneath the waistband of her underwear, and her mind goes blank.

 

“You don’t know about what, baby?” Waverly teases, and Nicole wants to argue, to throw some witty retort back, anything, but Waverly’s moving against her, running her touch through the substantial warmth between her thighs, and she can’t think of a damn thing, not a single coherent word to say.

 

So she kisses her instead, as Waverly starts to set a pace, dipping her fingers occasionally even lower, to tease, to make Nicole’s hips lift off the bed in an attempt to chase her touch. Her hand curves around the back of Waverly’s head, the other low on Waverly’s back, and she kisses her, until the necessity to breathe becomes overwhelming.

 

Waverly’s touch is like an antidote, it’s like a cure, it chases the last vestige of darkness well out of sight, and all Nicole can do is sigh, and try to keep the edges of her being from melting away.

 

“I’m real,” Waverly breathes when she slips inside, two fingers thick and heavy, making Nicole groan, making her muscles strain when her back stretches long. “I’m real, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

That’s what does it, when Waverly’s fingers curl, clever and quick, and her kisses grow longer, that’s what sends Nicole over the edge; her closeness, her commitment, her love.

 

She comes with a sob, her heart clenching, the muscles around Waverly’s fingers tensing hard, her hands splayed against the flat of Waverly’s bare back, and Waverly is there, like she promised, like she vowed, whispering sweet secrets into her ear.

 

_I’ve got you_ , she purrs, _I’m here_ , she sings like a lullaby, _this is real_ , she promises as her fingers draw Nicole’s release out.

 

It feels like a long, long time before the shaking in her core stops, until the thick pulses of desire start to retreat from her fingertips, until Waverly peppers slow kisses across her throat, and her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, before she settles into Nicole’s side.

 

“I love you,” Waverly offers gently, as Nicole settles back into her body, as she becomes aware of the dawn streaming in through the windows now.

 

“I love you, too,” Nicole sighs as her heartbeat flutters, stutters, begins to slow.

 

She can feel Waverly smile where she’s resting against Nicole’s naked shoulder, can feel her whole body warm with it, with Waverly’s happiness, with her contentment, with her own, and Nicole closes her eyes and revels in her own victory for a moment, before she turns her head slightly to catch Waverly’s eye.

 

“How do you do it?” Nicole asks, when she feels like there’s strength in her voice again, her hand moving to rest against Waverly’s jaw.

 

“How do I do what, baby?” Waverly asks her, eyebrow raised in curiosity, her hand resting high on Nicole’s stomach.

 

“Make it better, make everything better,” Nicole says, her gaze softening, her whole body following, rolling Waverly onto her back. “Even when it’s so dark I can barely see?”

 

Because she does, because Nicole woke up feeling like her world couldn’t ever turn into the sunlight again, and yet here she is, with Waverly in the bright dawn. It’s not a fix to the nightmares, she knows it’s not, but it’s a help, it’s a patch, it’ll keep her going until they can find the cure. Waverly’s presence makes it better. It makes _everything_ better.

 

“I don’t know,” Waverly replies, and it feels like a beginning, it feels like a middle, with the end nowhere in sight. “How do you do the same for me?”

  


-

  


End.

  


-

**Author's Note:**

> I'm standing here with a box of tissues and cuddles for anyone that needs them after that?
> 
> Feel free to swing by my [tumblr](http://tigerlo.tumblr.com) and let me know what you thought too? There are a bunch of wayhaught mini-fics that I haven't gotten around to putting up on here if you like that sort of thing!
> 
> And hey, thanks for getting to the end of this - presuming you did - I appreciate it. 
> 
> x


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